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CATHOLIC  LEGENDS: 


Jl  Mm  doiiuim, 


SELECTED,  TRANSLATED,  AND  ARRANGED 


FROM  THE  BEST  SOURCES. 


NEW   YORK: 

V.  k  3.  SADLIKR  &  CO.,  31  BARCLAY  STREET. 

BOSTON :  1S8  FEDERAL  STREET. 

MOMTRKAL  :   COR.    OF  SOTRK  DAMK  AND   ST.    FHANCIS  XATUR  SIS. 


Thr  .*iithor  r<-spr<ci  lo  liiin«rlf  the  rijc'ut  orauthori^inu  TnniUlioni  of  thii  Work. 


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PREFACE. 


The  itle  of  Catholic  Legends,  g^iven  to  he 
contents  of  the  present  vohime,  makes 
a  few  words  necessary  in  explanation 
of  an  expression  which  with  some  may 
be  misundei-stood. 

The  desi^  with  which  these  stories 
and  anecdotes  have  been  collected  has 
been  to  furnish  a  few  examples  of  that  peculiar  beauty 
which  is  so  intimately  associated  with  the  Catholic 
Church  and  every  thing-  that  proceeds  from  her.  It 
is  not  pretended  that  the  illustrations  here  g-iven  of 
the  various  types  in  which  that  beauty  displays  itself 
are  more  than  their  name  imports ;  they  are  strictly 
"  leg"endary,"  and  may  or  may  not  be  historicalh'  true 
as  mattei-s  of  actual  fact.  Undoubtedly  they  are  sub- 
stantially true,  so  far  as  being*  a  representation  not  only 
of  what  in  its  nature  may  appear,  and  does  appear,  con- 
tinually in  the  history  of  the  mysterious  intercourse 
between  the  visible  and  the  invisible,  but  as  being- 
founded  on  distinct  and  actual  facts,  all  of  whose  de- 
tails have  not  been  sufficiently  verified  by  critical  in- 
vestig-ation  to  entitle  them  to  be  ranked  as  historical. 
They  are  to  the  eye  of  the  mind  what  a  picture  of  any 


TUl  PREFACE. 

long-past  actual  event  is  to  the  eye  of  the  body;  con- 
veying a  vivid  idea  of  what  in  substance  occuiTod,  but 
accompanied  with  various  accessories,  as  colouring,  and 
light  and  shade,  which  spring  from  the  painter's  ima- 
gination, and  serve  to  impress  the  living  reality  on  the 
spectator's  mind  without  imposing  unwarrantalily  upon 
his  credulity.  As  such,  they  are  not  only  interesting 
and  beautiful,  but  positively  instructive. 

On  the  minds  of  the  young  they  are  calculated  to 
exercise  a  most  beneficial  influence.  Provided  that  due 
care  is  taken  to  impress  upon  the  growing  intelligence 
the  true  character  and  weight  of  these  "  legends,"  they 
will  tend  to  feed  the  imagination  with  that  nourishment 
which  it  ardently  desires,  and  which  it  is  most  impor- 
tant to  supply  to  it,  in  immediate  connection  with  the 
realities  of  the  invisible  world,  and  not  with  purely 
secular  romance  and  poetry  alone. 

In  some  cases  the  narmtives  have  been  thrown  into 
a  more  dramatic  shape  than  that  in  which  they  are  to 
be  found  in  their  original  forms.  And  if  tlie  same  plan 
has  not  been  followed  with  all,  we  must  claim  tlie  pri- 
vilege of  a  story-teller,  and  ask  leave  to  tell  our  tales 
in  whatever  style  and  fashion  the  nature  of  each  has 
seemed  to  require. 

A  very  few  of  the  following  stories  have  before  ap- 
])eared  in  an  English  form,  though  not  dcntical  with 
their  present  shape. 


CONTENTS. 


rJMt 

I.  The  Church  of  St.  Sabina I 

II.  The  Legend  of  Blessed  Sadoc  and  the  Forty-nine  * 

Martyrs 8 

III.  The  Vision  of  the  Scholar 15 

lY.  The  Legend  of  Blessed  Egidius,  or  Giles      .        .    24 

V.  Our  Lady  of  Chartres 83 

VI.  The  Legend  of  Blessed  Bernard  and  his  two  No- 
vices              ...     37 

YII.  The  Lake  of  the  Apostles 42 

Vni.  The  Child  of  the  Jew 47 

IX.  Our  Lady  of  Galloro 60 

X.  The  Children  of  the  Justiniani  .  .  .  .59 
XL  The  Deliverance  of  Antwerp  ...  .64 
XII.  Our  Lady  of  Good  Counsel,  at  Genazzano   .         .     67 

XIII.  The  Three  Knights  of  St.  John    ....     75 

XIV.  The  Convent  of  St.  Cecily 85 

XV.  The  Knight  of  Champfleury        .         .         .         .94 

XVI.  Zulima,  the  Moorish  Maiden        ....  103 

XVII.  Legend  of  the  Abbey  of  Einsiedeln      .        .         .  Ill 

XVIII.    The  Madonna  della  Grotta,  Naples       .         .        .119 

XIX  The  Monks  of  Lerins 123 

XX.  Eusebia  of  Marseilles 135 

XXL  The  Legend  of  Placldus 138 

XXII.  Tlie  Sanotnarv  of  Our  Ladv  of  the  Thorns    .         ,   152 


CONTENTS, 


XX  III.  Catherine  of  Home 

PAOfl 

.  156 

XXTV.  The  Miracle  of  Typasu*      .        .        .       , 

.  160 

XXV.  The  Demon-Preacher  .... 

.  176 

XXVL  The  Legend  of  the  Hermit  Nicholas    . 

.  190 

XXVIL  The  Martyr  of  Koeux  . 

.  208 

XXVm,  The  Legend  of  St.  Csedmon 

.  211 

XXrX.  The  Scholar  of  the  Rosary  . 

222 

XXX  The  Legend  of  St.  Hubert   . 

228 

XXXT.  The  Shepherdess  of  Nanterre 

241 

some 
cliurclies  of  modem  Rome  wliich 
are  in  one  way  or  another  like  volumes  of 
the  stories  of  saints,  can  hardly  fail  to  visit, 
among  others,  the  Convent  of  Santa  Sabina  on  the 
Aventine  Hill,  once  the  residence  of  St.  Dominic,  and 
which  from  his  time  to  our  own  has  ever  continued  to 
be  occupied  by  his  children.  It  is  fiill  of  him  and  of 
his  order.  There,  as  you  stand  outside,  you  may  see 
green  lanes  winding"  down  among  the  almond-trees 
to  the  long  road  of  the  Via  Appia  which  lies  below, 
where,  by  the  way-side,  stands  the  Convent  of  San 
Sisto,  which  he  gave  up  to  the  nuns  whom  he  planted 
there,  whilst  he  himself  came  with  his  brethren  to  re- 
side at  Santa  Sabina.  One  may  fanc}'  it  the  very  path 
worn  by  the  holy  patriarch's  feet  on  those  daily  visits 
which  we  are  told  he  paid  to  his  spiritual  daughters ;  for 
it  seems  to  have  no  other  purpose  than,  as  it  were,  to 
be  a  jn-een  cloister  between  the  two  Churches  of  Santa 


3  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

Sabina  and  San  Sisto.  If  j'oii  look  above  the  door,  as  you 
pull  the  convent-bell,  you  will  see  a  half-defaced  fi-esco, 
depicting  one  in  the  white  habit  and  black  mantle  of  the 
Fiiai-s-Preachei-s ;  whilst  on  either  side  are  angels  with 
torches  in  their  hands,  who  seem  lighting  him  on  his 
way.  It  is  St.  Dominic,  who  was  himseit'  so  escorted 
one  night  on  his  return  to  his  convent ;  and  whom  the 
angels  "left  com-teously"  (as  one  of  his  biographers  says) 
at  this  very  door  at  which  you  stand.  You  step  into  the 
cloister ;  and  before  entering  the  church,  you  may  see, 
in  the  little  quadrangular  enclosure,  the  orange -tree 
planted  by  his  own  hand.  Lift  the  heavy  curtain,  and 
you  stand  within  the  church  itself;  scarcely  altered  in  its 
general  features,  though  six  hundred  years  have  passed 
since  he  kept  his  nightly  vigils  and  disciplined  himself 
to  blood  within  its  walls,  or  took  his  scanty  rest  leaning 
against  one  of  those  pillars  on  a  stone  you  may  see  on 
the  right  hand  engraved  with  his  name,  and  preserved 
there  for  the  veneration  of  the  faithfid.  It  is  not  a 
rich  or  highly-oiTiamentcd  church.  ISo  long  line  of 
chapels  on  either  side  dazzle  the  eye  with  their  pictures; 
the  nave  is  bare  and  unbroken  in  its  severe  and  majestic 
solemnity.  On  the  arch  above  the  choir  thei-e  is  a 
mystic  j)ainting  of  sheep  clustered  on  a  gTassy  lawn 
round  a  fountain  of  lomning  water :  it  i)reserves  some- 
thing of  the  character  of  those  traditionary  representa- 
tions of  Christ  and  His  Apostles  you  may  see  in  the 
old  golden  mosaics  of  the  more  ancient  basilicas.  And 
there  are  other  paintings,  which  repeat  to  you  again 
and  ag"ain  whole  chaptei-s  of  the  early  romantic  chroni- 
cles of  the  Friai-s-Pi-eachers.  In  one  the  yoimg  Na- 
poleon is  raised  to  life  by  the  pi-ayer  of  St.  Dominic  j 
in  another,  Hyacinth  and  Ceslaus  receive  the  habit 
from  his  hands :  that  fresco  stands  over  the  very  spot 
where  the  Apostle  of  Poland  did  indeed  receive  it;  and 
it  was  in  the  ancient  choir  tliat  stretches  behind  the 
altar,  that  those  two  holy  brothers,  in  their  short 
novitiate  of  fom*  months,  learnt  saintliness  enough  at 
the  fe«t  of  Dominic  to  be  sent  back  at  the  end  of  that 


THE  CHURCH  OV  ST.  8ABINA.  • 

time  to  plant  the  new  order  in  their  native  land.  Tliere, 
now  as  then,  you  may  see  the  Friars- Preachers  chant- 
ing' their  evening  office.  Their  habit  has  known  no 
retonning  change ;  it  is  the  same  as  the  day  when 
B.  Reginald  received  it  from  the  hands  of  the  Queen 
of  Heaven.  There  they  sit,  each  one  like  the  pictured 
heads  of  their  own  Angelico ;  and  if  you  stay  to  the 
end,  you  will  see  what  recals  the  old  times  of  which 
we  have  been  speaking  in  a  yet  more  striking  way 
than  aught  you  have  seen  beside.  The  compline 
psalms  are  ended,  and  tlie  brethren  rise  as  if  to  leave 
the  choir.  The  old  church  is  an-ang'ed  in  the  usual 
basilica  style,  and  the  choir-seats  are  uehind  the  altar, 
which  divides  it  from  the  nave.  Separating  into  two 
ranks,  the  younger  walking  first,  they  come  out  on 
either  side  the  altar,  and  pass  along  to  the  bottom  of 
the  nave,  singing  as  they  walk.  It  is  the  "  Salve  Pro- 
cession." Every  evening  after  compline  in  every  convent 
of  the  order  it  is  thus  sung,  and  to  the  same  SAveet  and 
antique  strain ;  for  the  Friars-Preachers  have  their  own 
music,  like  their  own  prayers.  They  reach  the  bottom 
of  the  nave,  and  tummg  towards  the  altar,  move  up 
till  tliey  reach  the  middle :  then,  at  the  words  "  JEia 
rrgo,"  all  kneel,  and  the  prior,  walking  through  the 
kneeling  ranks,  sprinkles  each  one  with  holy  water, 
and  then  returns  to  his  place  till  the  anthem  is  finished ; 
when  they  go  back  in  the  same  order  as  they  came. 
And  as  you  watch  this  singnilar  and  beautiful  procession 
in  the  darkened  nave  of  the  old  church,  even  if  a 
stranger  to  tlie  Dominican  chronicles,  you  will  be  in 
some  way  carried  back  to  another  age ;  for  nothing  in 
all  that  meets  yoiu*  eye  has  tlie  character  of  our  own 
day.  The  shaven  heads  before  you  might  well  be  those 
of  St.  Dominic's  first  cliildrfn  :  they  are  all  young,  and 
with  the  look  on  their  countenances  wliich  devotion  and 
austerity  imprint  u})on  a  fervent  youthfulness  ;  for  Santa 
Sabina  is  now  the  Doniinican  TSovitiate,  and  the  centi-e 
of  the  strictest  reformed  observance.  As  they  pass  be- 
fore you,  it  is  like  an  old  painting  come  to  life ;  and  the 


4  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

whole  scene  is  one  which  any  one  may  see  has  a  his- 
tory and  an  association.  It  is  bnefly  this ;  when  the 
great  patriarch  St.  Dominic  was  called  from  this  world 
to  his  eternal  reward,  he  left  the  order,  which  had  been 
regulai-ly  established  only  four  years  previously,  pos- 
sessed of  a  footing-  in  every  country  of  Christendom. 
At  the  Second  General  Chapter,  held  at  Bologna  just 
before  his  death,  the  order  reckoned  sixty  convents  in 
different  parts  of  the  world ;  and  it  was  found  necessary 
to  divide  the  g'overnment  into  eig^ht  large  provinces 
or  nations.  In  shoi-t,  the  Friai-s-Preachers  had  taken 
possession  of  Christendom.  In  their  fii-st  fervour  they 
carried  every  thing-  before  them.  Men  listened  with 
wonder  to  the  preaching  of  men  whose  lives  were  more 
marvellous  than  their  words ;  whetlier  for  tlie  austerity 
and  sanctity  which  they  exhibited,  or  for  those  extra- 
ordinary graces  whicli  they  were  known  to  enjoy ;  so 
that  they  were  said  to  hold  in  their  convents  as  familiar 
intercourse  with  the  blessed  spirits  as  men  are  accus- 
tomed to  hold  one  with  another.  Such  was  the 
familiarity  that  the  brethren  had  with  the  blessed 
angels,  says  Castiglio,  in  his  history  of  the  oi-dei", 
that  oftentimes  they  saw  and  conversed  with  tliem, 
with  that  consolation  and  haj)pincss  wliich  those  only 
who  taste  the  like  can  undei-stand.  Thus,  of  a  certain 
novice  at  the  Convent  of  Santa  Sabinu  at  Home  it  is 
written,  that  being  awake  one  night,  and  lying  so  on 
his  bed  in  tlie  dormitory,  he  heard  steps  j)!issiug  that 
way,  and  looked  out  to  see  the  cause.  lit;  saw  thi-ee 
figures  habited  like  friars;  so  that  he  indeed  thought 
them  tln-ee  of  the  hTethren.  One  of  these  walked  first 
bearing  the  cross,  &'«other  the  vessel  of  holy  water,  and 
the  third  followed  orinkling  the  beds  and  the  whole 
donnitory  with  th*  water,  after  a  manner  customary 
in  the  order  at  that  time.  As  he  watclied  them,  one 
of  them  sj)oke,  and  said  to  the  others,  "  Brothers,  we 
have  now  chased  away  all  tlie  demons  from  this  dor- 
mitory ;  who  is  to  be  sent  to  the  other  ])arts  of  tlio 
hou<c ?"     And  lie  ^lio  canied  the  holv  water  rej)lied, 


THE  CHURCH  OP  ST.  SABINA.  0 

"  Our  Loi-d  has  sent  other  angels  to  them ;  our  business 
was  only  with  this  place."  Then  the  novice  perceived 
that  they  were  ang-els,  and  not  fi-iai*s ;  and  when  their 
work  was  done,  tliey  all  three  disappeared. 

But  the  graces  which  they  enjoyed,  and  which 
rendered  their  labours  so  successM  in  the  convei-sion 
of  souls,  drew  down  on  them  the  utmost  fury  of  the 
malignant  spirits.  If  the  strange  occurrences  we  find 
recorded  in  the  early  clironicles  of  the  order  were  re- 
lated of  one  convent  only,  or  on  the  evidence  of  one  or 
two  witnesses,  we  might  be  excused  for  giving  them 
but  little  attention.  But  it  was  far  otherwise.  At 
one  and  the  same  time,  throughout  every  convent 
of  the  order,  a  storm  of  temptations  and  disturbances 
broke  out,  of  so  stmnge  a  character,  that  none  could 
doubt  the  source  from  whence  it  arose.  At  first  these 
trials,  though  extraordinaiy  in  degree,  were  not  su|ier- 
natural  in  their  kind;  it  was  only  that  the  brethren 
were  tormented,  now  with  temptations  to  indiscreet 
austerity,  now  with  disgusts  and  weariness  of  their  nile, 
so  tha^"  many  returned  to  tlie  world.  But  very  soon 
there  were  added  to  tliese  horrible  and  alarming  ap- 
jiaritions,  specially  in  the  two  great  Convents  of  Paris 
and  Bologna ;  where  day  and  night  the  brethren  were 
harassed,  and  well-nigh  driven  to  despair,  by  the  in- 
cessant assaults  of  their  infernal  enemies.  The  foi-ms  of 
hideous  and  unclean  animals  were  seen  in  the  dormitories 
and  cells.  Shapes  of  imspeakable  horror  met  them  as 
they  went  about,  and  tlie  cries  and  voices  and  blas- 
phemies of  hell  broke  the  silent  hours  of  the  night. 
Nor  was  it  the  young  and  inexperienced  alone  wlio 
testified  to  the  existence  of  tlieso  things ;  the  oldest 
and  most  saintly  of  the  fathers  were  those  who  sufiered 
most.  One  ot  these,  a  man  of  imimpeachable  life, 
whilst  in  prayer  in  tlie  Convent^  of  Bologna,  was  heard 
to  utter  so  gi-eat  and  terrible  a  ciy,  that  the  other 
fathers  ran  to  liis  assistance,  and  foimd  him  alive  in- 
deed, but  without  spcecli  or  power  of  motion.  When 
they  spoke  to  him,  lie  did   not   answer;    a  treml)ling 


fi  CATHOLIC  LK0EN08. 

like  death  shook  every  limb,  and  his  eyes  remained 
ever  fixed  in  one  direction.  And  in  this  state  he  con- 
tinued the  whole  of  that  night.  In  the  morning,  having 
a  little  recovered,  the  prior  questioned  him  as  to  the 
cause.  "  Father,"  he  replied,  "  do  not  ask  me  what  I 
saw.  I  saw  the  devil ;  bxit  in  so  hoirible  a  manner, 
that  the  marvel  is,  not  that  I  am  as  you  see  me  now, 
but  rather  that  I  still  live :  were  I  to  see  that  sight 
again  on  one  hand,  and  the  fiery  furnace  of  hell  on  the 
other,  I  would  rather  leap  alive  into  the  fire,  than  gaze 
for  one  moment  on  a  thing  so  homble."  These  dreadful 
visitations  lasted  more  than  three  years,  till  the  strength 
and  courage  of  the  brethren  were  well-nigli  exhausted. 
Long  vigils,  and  fasts,  and  many  prayei-s,  wore  out  tlie 
vigour  of  their  bodily  frames,  while  constant  terror  and 
anxiety  weakened  their  spirits.  They  watched  day  and 
night  before  the  Most  Holy  Sacrament  in  uninterrupted 
prayer;  but  still  the  troubles  continued,  and  even  in- 
creased, till  the  order  seemed  threatened  with  destiaic- 
tion ;  for  none  had  courage  to  embrace  or  ])ei"sevei'e  in 
a  body  which  seemed  to  have  become  the  butt  of  evil 
spiiits.  At  length  the  subject  was  foi-mally  laid  before 
the  General  Chapter  held  at  Paris  in  1224,  during  the 
government  of  B.  Jordan  of  Saxony  ;  and  lie  ordered  the 
procession  during  tlie  Salce  to  be  generally  practised 
in  every  convent  of  the  order,  in  the  manner  in  which  it 
has  been  already  described,  and  has  ever  since  been  con- 
tinued to  be  performed.  The  effects  which  followed 
on  the  adoption  of  this  devotion  were  no  less  wonderfid 
than  the  sutferings  which  gave  rise  to  it.  Every  where 
the  apparitions  and  other  disturbances  ceased.  It 
seemed  as  though  Mary  had,  in  answer  to  her  children's 
cry  for  help,  come  in  person  to  chase  away  the  powers 
of  darkness,  and  to  bless  their  choii-s  with  the  sensible 
manifestations  of  her  own  presence  and  protection.  The 
stories  which  are  related  of  her  appearances  in  the 
Dominican  churches  during  the  singing  of  the  Salve 
at  this  period  have  many  of  them  a  pecuLar  beauty. 
Nor  were  thev  witnessed  bv  the  bretiiren   alone      It 


THE  CHURCH  OF  ST.  SABI>A.  7 

soon  became  a  popular  devotion  to  attend  the  singing 
of  the  Sahe  in  tlie  churclies  of  the  Friai-s-Preachere ; 
and  in  the  great  church  of  St.  James,  at  Paris,  crowds 
met  everv  evening  after  compline  to  witness  the  pro- 
cession; wliich,  performed  jis  it  was  with  imaffected 
earnestness  and  devotion,  liad  so  powerful  an  effect  on 
the  spectators,  tliat  their  sobs  and  tears  were  often  heard 
mingling  with  the  voices  of  the  fathers.  And  some 
were  rapt  in  ecstasies,  and  saw  the  chiu^h  crowded 
with  angelic  spirits,  and  Mary  in  the  midst ;  and 
watched  her  as  she  received  the  salutation  of  the  breth- 
ren, and  answered  it  bowing  her  head.  Once  she  ap- 
peared visibly  to  the  eves  of  many,  standing  in  front  of 
the  kneeling  ranks,  and  looking  do^vn  upon  tliem  as  they 
sang.  And  when  they  came  to  the  words  "  Et  spes 
nostra,  salce,^^  she  gravely  and  sweetly  bowed  her  head. 
And  as  they  sang  those  other  words,  "  Eta  ergo  ad- 
vocata  nostra"  she  tunied  to  the  altar,  and  prostrated 
hei-self  at  her  Son's  feet,  and  implored  His  mercy  for 
her  children.  And  again,  as  they  said  "  Illos  tvos 
misericordes  ociilos  ad  nos  converte,"  she  answered  the 
pi-ayer  by  turning  her  soft  and  melting  glance  upon 
thpni,  smiling  with  a  joyful  and  benign  countenance ;  so 
that  the  hearts  of  those  who  saw  it  were  filled  with 
gladnf^ss.  Then  at  tlie  last  vrords,  "  Et  Jemim  benc- 
dhtum  Jrurtum  ventrls  tvi  nobis  post  hoc  cxdium 
OJftrmIr,''  she  took  her  Divine  Cliild  into  her  arms  :  and 
liolding  Him  before  them,  she  seemed  to  show  Him  to 
them  as  they  had  prayed ;  and  so  disappeared.  At  an- 
other time  she  came  down  on  the  altai",  whicli  suddenly 
became  brightly  illuminated  and  sun'ounded  by  a  vast 
number  of  celestial  spirits,  among  whom  she  sat  en- 
throned, with  the  Holy  Infant  in  her  nnns.  She 
list<!ned  as  the  anthem  was  sung,  and  continued  to 
look  down  upon  the  brethren  as  they  knelt  turning 
towards  her,  until  its  close.  Then  she  rose ;  and  taking 
the  hand  of  the  little  Jesus,  she  made  with  it  the  holy 
sign  above  their  heads  and  disappeared. 

Such  are  some  of  the  associations  connected  witii 


8  CATHOLIC    LEQKNDS. 

the  first  institution  of  this  singular  devotion,  rendering 
it  something  more  than  a  curious  relic  of  antiquity ; 
for  the  interest  attaching  to  it  is  not  merely  historical, 
but  supernatural.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  to  our 
fathers,  whose  eye  of  faith  was  clearer  than  our  own, 
it  was  often  granted  to  see  in  visible  shape  some  of 
those  presences  which  sanctify  the  house  of  God.  In 
the  next  legend,  we  shall  see  this  same  devotion  of  the 
Salve  connected  with  a  tale  of  one  of  the  earliest  mar- 
tyrdoms of  the  order. 


II. 

THE  LEGEND  OP  BLESSED  SADOC  AND 
THE  FORTY-NINE  MARTYRS. 

In  the  year  of  grace  1260,  the  whole  country  of  Po- 
land suffered  greatly  from  the  ravages  of  tlie  barbarous 
Scythian  or  Tartar  tribes,  who  then  formed  the  great 
terror  of  the  Christian  countries  situated  on  the  north- 
eastern frontier  of  Europe.  Instigated  and  assisted  by 
the  treacherous  Russians,  they  overran  the  open  coun- 
try ;  sotting  fire  to  villages  and  convents,  and  putting 
all  the  helpless  inhabitants  to  the  sword.  Unable  to 
resist  their  violence  in  tlie  open  country,  the  Polish  no- 
bles, gathering  together  as  many  of  the  fugitive  pea- 
santry as  liad  escaped,  threw  themselves  into  the  strong 
town  of  Saudomir,  where  tliey  gallantly  defended  them- 
selves against  the  enemy  for  a  consjideral)le  time.  The 
Tartars  were  but  little  used  to  habits  of  regular  war- 
fare;  and  were  about  to  give  up  the  siege  in  despair, 
when  the  Russian  leaders  who  were  in  the  camp  per- 
suaded them  to  continue  the  attempt,  and  laid  a  plan 
for  overcoming  the  defenders  of  the  town  by  a  fraudu- 
lent dovico.  TIk'v  presented  themselves  to  tlie  governor 
of  the  fortress  under  the  cliaracter  of  aml)assadors  of 
peace;  and  ollV'rcd  to  negotiate  with  the  harKarians,  and 


THE  LEGEND  OK  BLESSED  SADOC.         9 

indnce  them  to  evacuate  the  country  on  payment  of  a 
sum  of  money.  The  Poles,  who  never  doubted  the 
Bincerity  of  the  Russian  envoys,  agreed  to  a  suspension 
of  arms ;  and  it  was  arranged  that  their  chiefs  should 
pass  to  the  enemy's  camp,  under  the  safe-conduct  of  the 
Russians,  to  arrange  the  articles  of  peace.  This  had 
been  the  plan  arranged  beforehand  by  the  treacherous 
Russians,  in  ofder  to  seize  the  persons  of  the  Polish 
leaders,  and  in  their  absence  make  themselves  masters 
of  the  city  during  the  suspension  of  hostilities. 

There  was  at  this  time  in  the  Convent  of  Friars- 
Preachers  established  at  Sandomir  a  very  holy  prior 
named  Sadoc,  one  of  the  first  companions  of  Blessed 
Paul,  when  he  was  sent  from  Bologna  by  the  great 
patriarch  Saint  Dominic  to  plant  the  order  of  preachers 
in  his  native  country  of  Hungary.  The  apostolic  la- 
bours of  Blessed  Paul  had  already  been  crowned  with 
martyrdom  ;  and  ninety  other  sons  of  the  same  glorious 
order  had  suffered  death  together  with  him  at  the 
hands  of  the  barbarous  tribes  whom  they  had  laboured 
to  bring  to  the  faith.  Sadoc  had  not  been  with  his 
brethren,  but  had  been  sent  on  a  mission  to  Poland ; 
where,  being  appointed  prior  of  the  Convent  of  Sando- 
mir, he  governed  the  brethren  in  so  admirable  a  man- 
ner, that  it  was  commonly  said  among  the  people  of  the 
town  that  the  Convent  of  St.  Mary  Magdalen  was  in- 
habited by  angels. 

On  the  night  when  the  Polish  chiefs  left  the  city 
for  the  Tartar  camp,  the  brethren  had  assembled  in 
their  choir  as  usual  for  the  recital  of  matins.  Matins 
were  now  just  -ended ;  and  all  being  seated  in  their 
places  as  the  custom  i?,  one  of  the  younger  novices, 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  choir,  prepared  to  read 
aloud  the  martyrology  for  the  ensuing  day ;  that  is,  the 
names  of  tlie  saints  who  were  to  be  commemorated. 
He  opened  tlie  lieavy  clasped  book  that  lay  before  him; 
something  seemed  to  perplex  and  astonish  him,  for 
there  was  a  momont's  pause.  The  pages  of  the  book 
t\-cre  rich  with  th'^  gold  au'l   painted  letters  of  mami 


10  CATHOLIC  LEQENDS. 

scripts  of  that  day;   but  it  was  none  of  these  that 
caup^lit    and    riveted    his   gTize.      For  an   instant   he 
doubted  if  he  saw  arig-lit ;  for  there,  in  charactei-s  not 
of  gold  hut  of  intense-  and  glorious  light,  appeared  the 
woixls,  "  At  Sandomir,  the  Passion  of  Forty-nine  Mar- 
tyrs."    His  hesitation  was  but  momentary;  the  next 
instant  the  passing  emotion  of  surprise  was  put  away  ; 
and,  faithful  to  the  simple  instinct  o^  obedience,  he 
sang  in  a  clear  boyish  voice  the  woitls  which  seemed 
to  announce  to  his  brethren  their  own  impending  fate. 
The  words  fell  on  their  astonished  ears  like  a  tlmnder- 
clap :  Sadoc  rose  from  his  seat  and  called  the  novice  to 
his  side.    *'  Is  this  a  jest,  my  child  V  he  said ;  "  if  so,  it 
is  but  ill-timed.     What  words  are  those  you  have  just 
sung  ?"     "  Father,"  replied  the  young  man,  with  much 
simphcity,  "  I  only  sang  what  I  saw  in  the  book  ;"  and 
so  saying,  he  placed  the  oi)en  page  before  the  prior. 
Then  the  Divine  illumination  of  the  Holy  Spirit  revealed 
to  Sadoc  that  these  things  were  written  for  him  and 
his  companions ;  and  turning  to  them  as  they  sat  in 
wonder  what  all  tliis  might  mean,  "  Fathers,  brothers, 
and  dear  friends,"  he  said,  "  the  Most  High  God  has 
sent  us  blessed  tidings  to-night.     Listen,  my  children  ; 
*  At  Sandomir,  the  Passion  of  Forty-nine  Martyrs ;'  who 
should  these  forty-nine  be  but  ourselves,  for  v.'o  exactly 
make  up  that  number  ?     To-morrow,  theiefore,  will  see 
the  golden  gates  of  the  New  Jerusalem  open  to  receive 
us  ;  and  doubtless  it  will  be  the  swords  of  the  Tartars 
that  are  to  carve  a  short  way  for  us  to  heaven.     0 
blessed   death,   that   shall   crown   us  with   the   green 
wreath  of  the  martyrs,  and  admit  us  to  the  embraces  ot 
Eternal  Love !     What  can  we  desire  more  ?     God  is 
calling  us  home  from  our  Ion"'  exile ;  we  will  go  there 
right  joyfully,  and  welcome  tlie  blows  that  shall  make 
our  path  thither  so  ciuick  and  easy.     But  our  time  is 
very  short;  and  we  who  have  so  soon  to  meet  the  Biide- 
gToom  must  see  that  our  lamps  are  bright  and  burning, 
and  ourselves  ready  for  His  coming.     Let  the  night, 
therefore,  be  given  to  prayer,  and  the  purification  of 


THE  LBOENO  OF  BLESSED  SADOC.  11 

our  souls  in  the  holy  Bath  of  Penance;  and  in  the 
morning  we  will  receive  the  Bread  of  Heaven,  which  will 

five  us  the  strength  and  courage  of  true  mai-tyi-s." 
he  brethren  listened  to  his  words  witli  an  extraoi-di- 
naiy  joy  ;  and  that  ni^ht  was  spent  in  solemn  prepara- 
tion for  death.  Each  one  confessed  his  sins  to  the 
venerable  prior,  with  the  teai-s  and  contrition  of  men 
whose  last  hour  was  at  hand ;  then  they  remained  in 
silent  pi-ayer  before  the  altar,  calmly  and  joylully  await- 
ing the  dawn  of  that  day  which  they  knew  was  to  be 
their  last. 

Bright  and  beautiful  was  the  morning  light  that 
streamed  through  the  tall  eastern  window,  and  fell 
over  the  kneeling  forms  of  that  Uttle  white-robed  army 
of  mai-tyrs.  There  was  no  sound  of  combat  or  of 
danger  without;  the  city  lay  in  profound  quiet,  and 
nothing  seemed  to  betoken  that  the  glorious  summer 
day  which  was  breaking  over  the  world  was  to  be  one 
of  bloodshed  and  of  crime.  There  was  but  one  Mass 
said  that  morning  in  the  convent  church ;  and  the  few 
citizens  who  assisted  at  the  Holy  Sacrifice  marvelled 
not  a  little  at  the  unusual  sight  they  witnessed ;  for  the 
Mass  was  celebrated  by  Sauoc  himself,  and  the  entire 
community  received  communion  together  at  his  hands, 
a  thing  whicli  was  not  customary  save  at  some  of  the 
greater  festivals  of  the  Church.  And  then  there  was 
nothing  more  to  do  but  to  wait  for  their  executionei-s. 
They  knew  not  the  hour  when  they  would  come ;  and 
though  possibly  they  felt  something  of  a  holy  impati- 
ence for  their  release,  the  loveliness  of  religious  disci- 
pline was  never  more  wonderfully  manifested  than 
durin"-  the  long  hours  of  that  day  in  the  Convent  of  the 
Magdalen.  As  if  nothing  imusual  were  at  hand,  each 
one  went  to  his  accustomed  office  and  occuj)ation.  The 
bell  rang  and  called  them  to  refectory  and  to  choir;  and 
no  sign  of  imwontod  liaste  or  excited  gesture  could  be 
marked  to  break  their  holy  and  unruffled  tranquilhty. 
Only  sometimes  sighs  and  words  of  fervent  desire  would 
btirst  fi'om  their  hearts.     "  Ah,  will  the^  never  comeT* 


IS  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

said  the  young*  novice  to  whose  eyes  the  blessed  tidingi 
had  fii-st  been  given.  "They  are  long  about  it;  1 
counted  by  this  time  to  have  been  with  Jesus  and 
Mary."  "Let  us  go  and  bid  farewell  to  the  holy 
images  and  altars,"  said  another ;  "  it  will  be  a  happy 
thing  to  die  before  them :  or  perhaps  even  God  may 
suffer  us  to  give  our  blood  in  defence  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament." 

But  still  the  day  passed  en,  and  every  thing  wore 
its  usual  aspect.  The  convent  was  situated  in  a  remote 
part  of  the  city,  and  suiroimded  by  a  garden;  so  that 
few  of  the  souads  from  the  busier  streets  and  more 
populous  quarters  reached  its  quiet  cloistei-s.  The 
friars,  too,  nad  been  full  of  their  own  thoughts;  or  per- 
haps they  would  have  heard  from  time  to  time  the 
echoed  snouts  and  cries,  which  showed  that  a  fieire 
struggle  of  some  kind  was  going  on  at  no  great  dis- 
tance. But,  as  I  have  said,  they  were  full  of  their  own 
thoughts;  and  their  thoughts  were  now  with  God.  It 
even  seemed  to  them  that  the  day  had  a  quietness  of  its 
own ;  for  the  solemnity  of  their  own  feelings  seemed  to 
cast  the  stillness  of  unwonted  prayer  over  all  the  world 
around  them. 

Evening  came  at  last,  and  the  bell  for  compline 
summoned  the  brethren  to  sing  the  Divine  praises  in 
their  choir ;  the  last  homage  they  were  to  offer  to  their 
Creator  in  this  world,  bet'ore  being  translated  to  the 
celestial  choir  of  the  angels.  Surely  never  had  tlie 
words  of  that  most  beautiful  service  sounded  so  full  of 
meaning  to  their  hearts,  as  now  wiien  they  were  fitting 
themselves  for  death.  First,  Sadoc's  voice  might  be 
heard  giving  the  blessing,  as  the  office  began :  "  May 
the  Almighty  God  grant  us  a  quiet  night  and  a  per- 
fect end."  Then  came  another  tone,  wliich  sang  the 
warning  words :  "  Brethren,  be  sober  and  watcli ;  for 
your  adversaiy  the  devil  as  a  roaring  lion  goeth  about, 
seeking  whom  he  may  devoiu  ;  whom  resist  ye,  strong 
in  faith."  Then  bui-st  forth  from  the  choir  the  solemn 
and  magnificent  chant,  swelling  through  the  arched 


THE  LEGEND  OP  BLESSED  SADOC.  13 

aisles  with  more  than  usual  power  in  its  tones.  What 
wonderful  words  were  those  for  dyinff  men  to  utter! 
"  He  that  dwelleth  in  the  help  of  the  Most  High  shall 
abide  under  the  protection  of  the  God  of  heaven.  His 
truth  shall  compass  thee  as  a  shield ;  thou  shalt  not  be 
afraid  for  the  ten-or  of  the  night,  for  the  arrow  that 
flieth  in  the  day,  or  for  the  assault  of  the  evil  one  in 
the  noon-day.  Forsake  us  not,  0  Lord,  our  God. 
In  manus  tuas,  Domine,  commendo  spiritum  meum. 
Commendo  spiritum  meum.  Gloi-ia  Patri  et  Fdio  et 
Spiritui  Sancto.     Commendo  spiritum  meum." 

Ah-eady  might  the  Tartar  war-cry  be  heard  clear 
and  terrible  in  the  very  street  beneatn  them;  already 
too  heavy  blows  were  falling  thick  and  fast  on  the  con- 
vent-gate :  yet  still  the  friai-s  seemed  to  take  no  heed. 
Quietly  and  in  order  they  formed  themselves  into  rank 
for  the  procession,  and  moved  down  into  the  nave,  sing- 
ing the  Salve  with  tones  so  sweet  and  joyous,  that  you 
might  have  thought  their  voices  were  already  mingling 
with  the  angel  choirs.  Then  thev  knelt,  turning  to  the 
altar;  and  Sadoc  walked  through  the  rank,  and  gave 
the  accustomed  sprinkling  of  holy  water.  It  was  at 
this  moment  that  tlie  door  of  the  church  burst  open, 
and  a  band  of  the  Tartars  rushed  in :  their  hands  and 
garments  were  dripping  with  blood,  and  their  whole 
appearance  savage  and  revolting.  They  advanced  tu- 
multuously  towards  the  kneeling  fi-iars ;  but  for  a 
moment  the  scene  before  them  seemed  to  strike  them 
with  awe,  and  they  paused  as  if  under  tlie  influence  of 
a  supernatural  presence.  They  mi^ilit  well  feel  it  so,  as 
they  marked  that  kneeling  i-ow  or"  figures  clothed  in 
white  garments,  whose  faces  were  turned  towards  the 
heaven  \v^liich  was  about  to  receivi!  them  into  its  rest, 
already  wearing  something  of  celo  tial  beauty.  Not  a 
head  was  moved,  not  a  voice  falteied ;  you  might  hear 
the  words  of  tlie  anthem  sung  as  clearly  and  as  sweetly 
as  ever:  ^'  Et  Jemim  heJicdictuvi  frnctum  ventris  tm, 
nobis  post  hoc  exilium  ostende."  They  were  the  last 
they  were  to  utter ;  the  barbarians  recovered  from  their 


14  CATHOI  IC  LEGENDS. 

momentary  astonishment,  and  with  a  yell  of  savag« 
malice  ruslied  on  them,  and  slaug^litered  them  where 
they  knelt.  They  fell  with  those  words  upon  their 
lips,  singing  as  they  died.  One  alone  moved  from  his 
place,  and  seemed  touched  by  an  emotion  of  ten-or.  He 
rose,  and  turned  to  ily ;  but  a  wonderful  sign  was  given 
him  which  restored  his  courage.  "  For,"  says  the  old 
chronicle  which  records  this  history,  "he  perceived 
that  the  dismembered  and  mangled  hodies  of  his  com- 

{)anions,  whose  souls  were  now  singing  everlasting  alle- 
uias  with  the  angels,  ceased  not  to  utter  in  accents  of 
superhuman  melody  the  words  of  the  half-finished  an- 
them ;  whereupon  he  also  cast  away  all  base  and  coward 
fear,  and  oft'ered  himself  to  the  swords  of  the  Tartars. 
So  did  these  heavenly  swans  fly  up  to  heaven,  singing 
the  praises  of  their  gi-eat  Mother  Mary ;  and  very  well 
may  we  believe  that  her  virgin  hands  did  there  crown 
tlieir  brows  with  the  immortal  laurels  of  the  martyrs." 

In  the  office  granted  in  their  memory  by  Pope  Pius 
VII.,  the  words  which  tliey  are  recorded  to  have  been 
singing  at  the  moment  of  their  massacre  are  introduced 
into  tlie  collect :  "  Et  Jesinn,  hened'ictum,  fructum  ven- 
tre tui,  nobis  post  hoc  exilivm  ostende"  Pope  Alex- 
ander IV.,  wlio  filled  the  Cliair  of  St.  Peter  at  the 
time  of  tlieir  martyrdom,  granted  singular  privileges  to 
all  who  in  their  honour  should  visit  the  Church  of 
Sandomir;  and  their  festival  is  still  observed  on  the 
scene  of  the:,  death  with  exti-aordinar}'  devotion  and 
splendoup 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  SCHOLAR.  I^ 

ra. 

THE  VISION  OF  THE  SCHOLAR. 

The  scholars  of  the  University  of  Padua,  which  had 
been  famous  for  thirty  years  in  the  year  1220,  were 
wont  to  amuse  themselves,  with  more  wit  than  discre- 
tion, at  the  expense  of  a  little  German  student,  who 
was  at  once  the  plaything  of  his  companions  and  the 
victim  of  his  masters;  in  short,  the  common  butt  of  all. 
He  came  from  the  banks  of  tlie  Danube ;  liis  name  was 
Albert  de  Groot  j  and  he  was  born  at  Lawingen,  a  little 
town  of  Swabia  now  fallen  into  decay,  of  a  noble  fa- 
mily :  but  he  had  little  of  the  pride  of  nobihty  about 
iiim ;  and,  indeed,  how  could  the  poor  child  be  vain, — 
heavy  as  he  was,  timid,  encrusted  with  shyness,  back- 
ward, without  readiness  of  speech  or  any  power  of  self- 
defence.  He  appeared  so  stupid,  that  his  pitiless  com- 
panions called  him  '  the  ass.'  The  Paduans  italianised 
nis  name,  and  joined  to  it  the  designation  of  his  coun- 
try; from  Groto  Tedesco  they  called  him  Grotesco, 
Groteschino,  and  other  epithets  equally  flattering'.  In 
order  to  complete  the  satire,  this  name  of  Groot  signi- 
fied great;  and  the  youth,  though  fifteen  years  old, 
was  of  a  stature  which  would  have  been  small  for  ten. 
All  these  circumstances  rendered  the  life  of  the  scholar 
full  of  thorns. 

He  was  more  sensible  to  all  this  raillery  than  he 
appeared ;  and  more  than  once  he  would  have  listened 
to  the  temptations  of  despair,  if  he  had  not  had  deeply 
implanted  in  liis  heart,  by  the  care  of  a  Christian 
mother,  ardent  i)iety,  humble  resignation,  and  a  tender 
and  lively  devotion  to  tlie  Blessed  Virgin. 

If  he  felt  it  hard  to  be  called  '  the  ass,'  yet,  when  he 
considered  that  he  had  neither  readiness,  memory,  nor 
intelligence,  he  said  to  himself  with  a  saddened  heart, 
that  he  probably  deserved  the  epithet;  and  that  the 
career  of  science  wliich  he  so  sincerelv  desired  to  em- 


16  CATHOLIC  LEGEN15S. 

brace  perhaps  offered  him  no  chance  of  success.  On 
one  occasion,  after  following'  a  course  of  sermons  from 
the  Blessed  Jordan  of  Saxony,  who  liad  jnst  been  chosen 
General  of  the  Dominican  order,  lie  was  so  strongly 
affected,  he  understood  so  well  the  holy  orator,  tliat  he 
imagined  it  to  be  the  will* of  God  that  he  should  retire 
from  the  world  and  enter  this  order  of  Preaching- 
Friai*s ;  if  not  to  shine  amongst  the  brilliant  men  who 
were  its  glory — he  dared  not  aspire  to  such  an  honour 
as  that, — yet  at  least  to  save  liis  ow^n  soid.  He  went, 
therefore,  at  sixteen,  to  petition  for  the  Dominican  ha- 
bit; and  the  new  j^enei-al,  who  came  from  his  own 
country  and  spoke  his  own  language,  having  given 
liim  a  kind  welcome,  he  was  received  into  a  convent  of 
the  order,  there  to  complete  his  studies. 

But,  alas !  he  found  in  the  cloister  the  same  sor- 
rows he  was  seeking  to  avoid.  His  slow  wit  could 
take  in  nothing,  or  at  least  could  express  nothing ;  and 
though  among  his  young  brethren,  the  novices,  he 
found  more  charity  than  in  the  turbident  students  of 
the  universitv,  he  saw  well  enough  that  he  was  looked 
upon  as  the  lowest  in  the  house.  His  ])iety  and  humi- 
lity long  bore  him  up;  his  courage  did  not  fail  for 
some  time ;  he  W'as  constantly  hoping  that  one  day  he 
should  surmount  all  obstacles,  and  break  the  bonds 
which  seemed  to  hold  his  mind  ca[)tive.  He  took  the 
vows,  and  became  a  monk ;  but  still  continued  a  back- 
wai'd  scholar. 

Alter  two  years  of  jjationce,  he  ]je"-an  to  be,  tho- 
roughly discouiaged ;  he  thought  he  had  been  mis- 
taken,— that  perhaps  he  had  yielded  to  an  impulse  of 
pride,  in  presenting  himself  to  an  order  whose  mission 
was  to  pi'oach  to  the  people,  to  }.>roclaim  to  the  world 
the  faith  of  Christ ;  and  w  liich  consetjuently  ought  to 
be  distinguished  for  science  and  genius  as  well  as  for 
virtue.  He  considered  that  he  should  never  have  either 
the  j)ower  of  logic  or  the  mastery  of  elociuence ;  and 
he  said  to  himself:  "I  have  vowed  my  life  to  God, 
I  know  that  He  is  good  :  when  I  shall  appear  before 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  SCHOLAR.  17 

Him,  He  will  tiot  ask  me  whether  I  have  spoken  well, 
but  whether  I  have  lived  well;  not  whetner  I  have 
been  learned,  but  whether  I  have  been  innocent;  not 
whether  I  have  left  fine  wiitings,  but  whether  I  have 
done  holy  actions.  At  the  same  time,  I  am  the  most 
useless  ot  His  sei-vants.  But  His  holy  will  be  blessed. 
He  has  no  need  of  my  assistance ;  I  rashly  desired  to 
plead  the  au^ist  cause  of  Holy  Church,  to  propagate 
the  Catholic  taith,  to  strug-gle  against  heresy.  I  forg'ot 
tliut  God  can  raise  whom  it  pleases  Him;  that  He  took 
to  found  His  imperishable  temple  twelve  ignorant 
fishermen.  Blessed  be  His  holy  Will !  I  will  go,  then, 
from  this  sweet  cloister,  where  I  am  only  a  burden; 
and  retiring  apait,  like  the  solitaries  of  old,  will  think 
of  notliing  but  my  own  salvation,  God  repulses  me 
from  the  career  of  science ;  but  when  I  shall  be  alone 
with  Him,  I  know  He  will  never  repulse  me  from  His 
adored  presence." 

In  this  burst  of  feeling  the  good  monk  thought  he 
perceived  that  his  intellect  was  opening  a  little,  and 
that  he  was  beginning  to  reason;  but  lie  rejected  the 
thought  as  a  temptation,  and  remained  fixed  in  his  re- 
solution to  fly  from  the  convent. 

He  was  too  timid  to  communicate  this  project  to 
any  one ;  he  knew  well  that,  like  every  thing  else  that 
came  out  of  his  lips,  it  would  only  ])e  received  with 
mockery;  and  this  he  wished  to  avoid.  The  only 
confidante  of  liis  determination  was  tlie  Blessed  Virgin: 
before  her  altar  he  prayed  assiduously  and  tenderly  for 
nine  days,  imploring  her  support,  and  especiallv  be- 
seeching her  to  make  known  to  him  the  will  of  God, 
whicli  he  was  seeking,  and  to  which  above  all  things 
he  desired  implicitly  to  submit. 

On  the  niglit  fixed  for  his  departure  ho  prayed  at 
more  length  tlmn  usual ;  tlien,  after  wniting  till  all  the 
convent  was  asleep,  and  ])lacing  himself  under  the  guar- 
dianship of  Mary,  he  went  out,  of  liis  cell,  gained  with- 
out noise  the  walls  of  the  garden,  fixed  a  ladder  against 
them,  and  then,  before  placing  his  foot  on  tlie  first 
c 


18  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

round,  knelt  down  aguin,  and  prayed  to  God  not  to 
condemn  the  step  that  he  was  taking-,  in  leaving*  a  house 
consecrated  to  Him ;  for  that  he  would  never  cease  to 
belong"  to  Him,  and  to  Him  alone. 

As  he  prepai'ed  to  rise,  lie  was  suddenly  stnick  by 
an  unexpected  sight.  Was  it  a  waking"  dream,  or 
a  miraculous  favour  that  was  granted  him?  He  be- 
held (such,  at  least,  is  the  legend  handed  down  to  us 
by  his  contemporaries)  four  majestic  ladies  advancing 
towards  him :  they  were  surrounded  by  a  mild  splen- 
dour; while  theu*  dignity,  tempered  as  it  was  with  grace 
and  sweetness,  inspired  at  once  respect  and  confidence. 
The  two  first  placed  themselves  in  front  of  the  ladder, 
as  though  to  prevent  him  from  ascending  it.  But  there 
needed  no  constraint;  for  Albert,  prostrate  on  the 
ground,  felt  assured  that  these  radiant  forms  were  not 
of  this  world,  and  remained  in  silent  expectation. 

The  third  lady,  drawing*  near  to  him,  asked  him 
kindly  why  he  thus  despaired ;  and  how  he  could  re- 
solve to  fly  thus  shamefully  from  his  convent,  and  to 
throw  iiimself  without  a  guide  into  a  world  the  dangere 
of  which  are  so  great.  The  scholar  answered  without 
rising  from  the  ^ound,  and  humbly  confessed  his  ob- 
stinate incapacity,  which  resisted  all  the  efforts  of  his 
perseverance. 

"  It  is,"  answered  the  lady,  "  because  you  seek  in 
the  mere  human  strength  of  your  own  weak  mind  tlie 
light  which  comes  only  fi'om  God.  You  have  in  the 
Queen  of  the  world  a  protectress  who  loves  you,  and 
knows  that  you  are  her  faithful  servant ;  yet  you  have 
never  prayed  to  her  for  the  gnft  of  knowledge;  as 
thong"h  you  were  ignorant  that  all  treasures  are  open 
to  her,  and  that  with  her  wisdom  dwells.  Beliold  her 
coming  towards  you  in  all  her  sweetness ;  pray  to  her 
without  fear ;  our  intercession  will  second  you." 

Then  the  scholar,  recognising  in  the  fourth  lady  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  whose  smile  calms  all  sorrows,  was  em- 
boldened to  offer  to  her  the  prayer  which  was  nearest 
to  his  heart.     Hitherto  he  had  only  dared  to  ask  tho 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  SCHOLAR.  19 

graces  which  tend  to  salvation ;  but  now  he  considered 
that  if  he  desired  science,  it  was  only  for  the  sake  of 
employing  it  for  the  glory  of  God,  and  that  therefore 
it  was  a  Christian  request.  Thus  encouraged,  and  liill 
of  hope  and  confidence, — feeling  in  some  sort  like  a  son 
whom  tlu-ee  sisters  are  supporting  in  the  presence  of  a 
cherished  motlier, — he  addressed  himself  to  Mary,  the 
Queen  of  the  world,  and  prayed  to  her  that  he  might 
be  able  to  attain  to  the  end  of  all  his  ardent  desires — 
science. 

"  Science  is  great  and  various,  my  son,"  answered 
the  foiui;h  lady :  "  do  you  wish,  then,  to  know  every 
thing ;  and  do  you  not  remember  the  history  of  our  first 
parent,  to  whom  the  fallen  spu'it  tlius  oftered  science 
without  limit  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  Blessed  Virgin  !"  cried  Albert,  alarmed : 
"  I  only  ask  to  know  what  it  pleases  God  I  sliould 
know.  I  desire  not  the  dangerous  power  of  sounding 
the  secrets  of  Heaven ;  I  only  desire,  and  that  within 
the  limit^s  of  faith,  philosophy  and  the  science  of  na- 
ture." 

"  Human  science  ?"  answered  the  lady  kindly.  "  It 
is  vain,  and  full  of  perils ;  and  perhaps,  my  son,  you 
would  have  done  better  to  prefer  theology,  which  has 
the  power  of  imveiling  to  the  mind  all  that  man  can 
discover  of  tlie  holy  mysteries  of  God.  But  your 
pmyer  shall  not  be  rejected.  Only  in  the  pliilosophy 
which  you  so  love,  beware  of  the  pride  wliieh  it  often 
causes  to  spring  up  in  the  soul.  Long  shall  you  pos- 
sess the  girt;  you  shall  pay  for  it  by  the  labours  whicli 
it  will  cause  you,  nnd  the  harsli  judgments  which  men 
shall  pass  upon  you:  but  be  faithful,  lot  not  your  heu)t 
be  putlV-d  up,  and  I  promise  you  tliut  this  science,  wliich 
has  ruined  so  many  souls,  shall  be  witluh-awn  from  vou 
the  moment  it  becomes  dangerous  to  you." 

Tlie  vision  disappeared  ;  and  Albert,  feeling  himself 
quite  changed,  and  conqn'ohending  the  littleness  of  his 
past  sorrows,  remained  for  an  hour  on  his  knees,  bless- 
!T)g  God,  ferventiv  tlianking  the  Blessed  Virgin,  ques- 


20  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

tioning  the  prudence  of  his  choice,  dreading"  the  ])erils 
of  human  science,  humWing-  himself,  and  asking  from 
God  humility,  henceforth  lus  anchor  and  his  strength. 
Then  he  took  away  his  ladder  and  retired  to  his  cell, 
where  he  tried  in  vain  to  sleep. 

The  next  morning  in  the  schools  there  was  general 
amazement.  Alhert  was  another  man ;  his  former 
heaviness  had  given  place  to  the  liveliest  and  most 
subtle  intelligence :  nothing  stopped  him ;  he  under- 
stood every  thing :  the  most  abstruse  problems  unra- 
velled themselves  before  him  as  clear  as  aay ;  all  that  he 
heard,  all  that  he  read,  was  immediately  classified  in  his 
memory,  and  remained  there  in  its  proper  place.  In 
one  year  he  passed  all  his  yoxmg  companions,  and 
eclipsed  all  his  masters ;  so  that  all  were  amazed  at  the 
metamorphosis  which  had  taken  place,  and  said  that 
some  xmknown  miracle  had  changed  an  ass  into  a  phi- 
losopher. And  they  were  not  mistaken ;  but  none 
knew  of  the  vision ;  for  the  humble  scholar  kept  it  secret. 
In  a  few  years  he  became  master  in  philosophy,  and 
was  required  to  teach  it ;  which  he  did  in  so  superior  a 
manner,  that  he  was  ever  after  called  the  philosopher, 
as  though  he  alone  were  worthy  of  that  name. 

And  he  continued  a  Christian  philosopher ;  always 
fiill  of  charity,  fond  of  his  cell,  inaccessible  to  the  se- 
ductions of  the  world  or  of  vain-glory ;  dividing  his 
beloved  solitude  between  prayer,  by  whicli  he  raised 
his  soul  to  God,  and  intense  study,  which  enlarged  with 
g'iant  stej)S  the  circle  of  his  knowledge  and  the  scope 
of  his  mind.  He  never  left  his  convent  except  to  hear 
sermons ;  and  those  of  St.  Anthony  of  Padua,  who 
flom-ished  at  that  time,  especially  charmed  him,  and 
administered  food  to  his  spii-itual  life.  He  studied  tlie 
natural  sciences,  and  found  in  each  created  object  a  step 
whereby  to  rise  towards  the  Creator ;  and  as  he  scarcely 
departed  at  nil  from  tlie  particular  cai'eer  which  he  had 
marked  out  for  himself,  he  gave  little  attention  to  what 
is  commonly  called  learning ;  though  he  occasionally 
visited  the  l)ni]ding  which  the  Paduans  exhibit  as  the 


THE  VISION  OF  THE  SCHOLAR.  21 

house  of  Livy,  and  amused  himself  with  deciphering; 
the  inscriptions  found  there. 

At  thirty  years  old,  he  was  so  universally  instructed 
in  all  that  belongs  to  philosophy  and  the  knowledg'e 
of  natural  science  that,  like  Picus  of  Mirandola  in  later 
times,  he  could  reason  and  discuss  on  all  tliat  could  be 
known  {de  omni  re  scibili)  according;  to  the  state  of 
science  at  that  epoch.  The  Order  of  St.  Dominic  was 
anxious  to  produce  before  the  world  this  wonder  formed 
in  its  bosom ;  and,  accordingly,  he  was  sent  to  Cologne 
to  profess  })hiIosophy  and  theolog-}' ;  which  last  science 
he  had  studied,  though  with  less  success.  At  CologTie, 
at  Hildesheim,  at  Fribourg,  at  Ratisbonne,  at  Stras- 
burg',  he  dazzled  all  Germany ;  and  gained  admiration 
even  more  by  his  humility  and  modest}',  than  by  the 
depth  of  his  doctrine  and  the  immensity  of  his  intellect. 
He  never  lived  any  where  except  in  the  convents  of  his 
order;  ahvaA's  chose  the  woi-st  cell,  and  lived  like  the 
most  obscure  of  his  brethren. 

The  Blessed  Jordan  of  Saxony  having  died  in  123G, 
Albert  was  appointed  Vicar-General  of  the  Order  of 
St.  Dominic ;  an  office  which  he  administered  for  two 
years,  while  that  of  General  was  vacant ;  and  it  was 
manifest  that  the  blessing-  of  God  was  with  him. 
The  Chapter  asseml)led  at  Bologna  in  1238  for  the 
election  of  a  new  General  conferred  on  him  this  dig- 
nity ;  but  he  deprecated  it  with  so  much  eai'uestness 
that  tliey  were  obliged  to  yield  to  his  humble  entreaties ; 
and  their  choice  next  falling  upon  St.  Raymond  de 
Pennafort,  who  was  absent,  he  wont  to  liarcelona  to 
hand  over  to  him  the  seals  of  the  order,  and  hastened 
to  return  to  his  dear  little  cell  at  Cologne.  There  he 
resumed  his  studies  and  his  lessons;  and  so  many  re- 
mark:ibl(!  men  shone  forth  among  his  scholars,  that  it 
was  tlioiiglit  desirable  to  send  him  to  Paris. 

The  University  of  Paris,  which  was  said  to  have 
been  founded  liy  Charlemagne,  had  })een  gr(>atly  en- 
larged by  Louis  the  Young,  and  g-ifted  with  many 
privileges  by  Philip  AugiistJis.     All  men  of  high  merit 


22  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

aspired  to  be  professors  there;  iind  its  scliolai-s  were 
counted  by  thousands,  and  foi-med  within  the  city  a  dis- 
tinct and  ill-disciplined  population,  whicli  often  troubled 
the  public  peace.  But  the  king-s  of  P'rance  esteemed 
the  protection  of  science  a  sacred  duty;  and  St.  Louis, 
who  was  reigning-  at  the  time  of  Albert's  arrival,  liked 
to  see  his  people  well  taught ;  knowing  that  igTiorance 
and  imperfect  instruction  are  the  'worst  enemies  of  re- 
ligion and  morals,  and  therefore  necessai-ily  of  the 
happiness  of  mankind. 

As  soon  as  the  little  monk  of  Cologne,  whose  frail 
form  and  modest  bearing  presented  a  lively  contrast  to 
his  vast  genius,  had  been  once  heard  by  the  Parisians, 
he  became  the  general  topic  of  discourse  in  that  excit- 
aljle  city.  The  wits,  on  accomit  of  his  figure,  called 
him  Albert  the  Little ;  but  the  enthusiasts,  on  account 
of  his  merit,  called  him  Albert  the  Great,  imconscious 
that  they  were  only  translating  his  name.  He  became 
so  much  the  fashion,  that  the  largest  halls  would  not 
contain  the  number  who  thronged  to  hear  his  lectures ; 
and  he  was  therefore  obliged  to  give  them  in  a  public 
square,  which  has  ever  since  retained  a  trace  of  his  name. 
It  is  called  the  Place  Maubert,  an  abbreviation  of  Place 
Maitre  Aubert ;  Aubert  being  the  French  rendering  of 
the  pretty  G(>rman  name  of  Albert ;  in  the  same  way 
that,  from  their  dislike  to  pronounce  two  consonants 
together,  th.ey  have  changed  Alberic  into  Aubry,  and 
Thiobald  into  Thibaut. 

Among  the  pupils  of  Albert  at  this  time,  1245,  was 
St.  Thomas  Acjuiiias,  afterwards  so  illustrious ;  and  his 
preceptor  already  discerned  in  him  that  masterly  genius 
which  made  him.  one  of  the  brightest  lights  of  the 
Church. 

Some  time  after  this,  Albert  returned  to  Colopio 
and  was  appointed  JVovincial  of  Germany  ;  an  oiiice 
which  he  exercised  for  three  years,  but  whi(,'h  never 
]>revented  him  from  continuing  his  public  lectures,  lie 
also  received  a  mission  somewhat  resembling  that  of 
the  Sainte  Enfance,  which  has  lieen  establislied  by  a 


THE  VISION  OK  THE  SCHOLAR.  23 

venerable  prelate  in  our  own  days.  The  Poles,  who 
were  still  bai-barians,  had  the  dreadful  custom  of  killing 
all  their  children  who  were  born  weakly  or  deformed ; 
those  also  whom  they  had  not  adequate  means  of  sup- 
porting, and  all  their  old  people  who  seemed  useless. 
The  Holy  See,  whose  charity  extends  over  the  whole 
eai'th,  charged  Albert  to  go  and  contend  against  these 
savage  customs ;  which  perilous  unilertaking  he  accom- 
plished with  great  success.  The  Pope  wished  to  rewanl 
Kim  by  making  him  a  Bishop,  but  he  could  not  prevail 
over  his  humility :  it  was  not  till  12G0  that  he  was 
compelled  by  his  superiors  to  accept  the  Bishopric  of 
Ratisbonne ;  the  duties  of  whicli  oflice  he  worthily  ful- 
filled for  four  years,  and  then  obtained  fi-om  Urban  IV. 
leave  to  return  to  his  poor  cell  at  Cologne ;  where,  as  in 
former  times,  he  would  not  allow  himself  to  be  treated 
with  more  distinction  than  the  lowest  of  his  brethren. 
Here  he  set  himself  again  to  study,  to  continue  his 
lectures,  and  to  expound  the  Gospel.  But,  in  spit«  of 
his  love  for  retreat,  he  was  obliged  by  his  submission 
to  the  head  of  the  Church  to  take  many  long  journeys ; 
he  had  to  preach  tlie  Crusade  throughout  GeiTnany,  to 
speak  at  the  Council  of  Lyons  in  1274,  and  to  mix  liim- 
self  up  in  all  the  important  atfairs  of  the  Holy  See. 

Wherever  he  s])oke,  he  worked  wonders;  and  yet, 
up  to  the  age  of  seventy-five,  he  had  never  experienced 
the  slightest  movement  of  vanity;  when  one  day, 
j)reoching  at  Cologne,  and  seeing  his  immense  audience 
electrified  by  Ids  discourse,  he  lifted  his  head  with 
somewhat  more  pride  than  usual,  and  was,  perhaps 
for  tlie  first  time,  about  to  indulge  a  thought  of  self- 
admiration,  wlien  she  who  had  so  long  protected  him 
came  to  his  assistance.  He  thought  he  beheld  her;  he 
stopped  suddenly  in  the  very  middle  of  a  learned  period, 
and  came  down  from  the  pidpit  without  bringing  it  to 
a  close.  He  had  lost  his  memory.  The  spirit  of  phi- 
losopliy,  whieli  was  the  atmosphere  in  which  he  had 
lived,  deserted  him  at  tlie  moment  in  which  it  was  be- 
coming dangerous ;  and  he  fell  back  into  the  state  of 


24  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

dulness  which  he  liad  so  much  deplored  at  Padna.  He 
underetood  the  warning-,  and  devoted  all  his  thoughtsi 
to  prepai-ing-  himself  tor  a  holy  death,  whicli  took  place 
two  years  after,  the  loth  of  November,  1282. 


IV. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  BLESSED  EGIDIUS, 
OR  GILES. 

During  the  reigii  of  Sancho  I.,  King-  of  Portug-al, 
there  lived  at  the  coin-t  of  tliat  mon:;rcli  a  counsellor  of 
hig'h  rank,  named  Don  Kodrigiioz  de  Vng-liaditt's.  This 
nobleman  had  an  only  son,  named  Eg-idius,  who  dis- 
played from  his  earliest  years  every  sign  of  an  extraor- 
dinary g-enius.  Being-  sent  to  tlie  University  of  Coinibra, 
the  reputation  whicli  he  there  acquired  was  of  so  unusual 
a  character  as  to  attract  tlie  notice  of  the  king- ;  who, 
willing:  to  mark  his  sense  of  the  son's  talents  and  the 
father's  long*  services,  loaded  him  with  several  rich  bene- 
fices— he  having'  chosen  the  ecclesiastical  state.  T^n- 
happily,  in  making-  this  choice  Eg'idius  had  hoon  giiided 
only  by  interest.  Finding-  himself  wliilst  still  a  mere 
youth  his  own  master,  with  an  ejiormous  revenue  at  his 
disposal,  and  flattered  by  tlie  proud  sense  of  his  own 
unequalled  g-enius  and  powei-s  of  mind,  he  used  his  sa- 
ci-ed  office  only  as  a  means  of  g-ratifying-  iiis  thirst  for 
leorning- ;  but  neg-lected  all  its  duties,  and  g-ave  himself 
-up  to  a  life  of  unrestrained  indulg-ence  and  licentious- 
ness. Once  having-  entered  on  this  course,  it  seemed 
indeed  as  if  the  wliole  energ-y  of  his  mind,  with  all  its 
brilliant  and  varied  att-ainments,  were  directed  to  r.o 
other  end  than  to  j)rocure  the  deg-radation  of  his  soul. 
His  profound  science  was  employed  to  provide  for  him- 
self nfw  excitements;  and  stimulated  by  a  restless  and 
unholv  curiosity,  he  determined  to  commence  the  studv 


THE  LEGEND  OV  BLESSED  EQIDIUS.  25 

of  medicine ;  and  for  this  purpose  set  out  for  Paris,  whose 
raiiversity  then  enjoyed  the  highest  reputation  of  any 
throughout  Eui-ope  in  ever}'  department  of  science. 

On  his  journey  thither  he  was  joined  by  a  young 
man,  who  fell  into  convereation  with  liim  on  the  road, 
and  in  whose  company  he  continued  to  travel  during  the 
whole  of  that  day.  lie  was  of  a  strangely  fascinating 
and  winning  address ;  and  almost  without  being  aware 
of  it,  Egidius  suffered  him  to  read  tlie  very  secrets  of  his 
heart,  and  revealed  to  him  all  the  designs  and  plans  which 
were  revolving  in  his  brain.  It  was,  indeed,  no  oih&c 
than  the  great  enemy  of  souls  himself,  who  had  taken 
this  disguise  in  order  to  complete  the  ruin  of  the  un- 
happy Egidius.  Witli  many  a  word  of  artful  eloquence 
he  won  his  confidence :  nothing  was  concealed ;  the 
excessive  and  unrestrained  passion  for  humun  science, 
which,  unsanctified  by  Divine  gi-ace,  had  united  itself 
to  a  bold  and  quencliless  thirst  for  the  enjoyments  of 
sense,  was  all  laid  bare  before  the  keen  eye  of  the 
stranger ;  and  whilst  the  latter  encouraged  him  in  all 
his  designs,  he  assured  liim  at  the  same  time  that  in 
choosing  the  study  of  medicine  he  had  not  selected  the 
best  means  of  can-ying  them  into  effect.  "There  is  a 
science,"  he  said,  "wliich  will  bring  vou  far  more  quickly 
to  your  desired  end  tljan  any  you  Lave  yet  attempted ; 
it  will  itself  aid  you  to  acquire  all  sciences.  Intellectual 
power,  without  bound  or  limit,  and  the  enjoyment  of 
pleasures  which  you  never  pictured  to  yourself  in  the 
wildest  moments  of  your  imagination,  will  it  pour  out  at 
your  feet.  Nay  more,  it  will  secure  you  also  a  fame 
amongst  men,  whicli  no  mere  Iniman  science  can  ever 
procure ;  and  whilst  you  enjoy  the  cup  of  pleasure  to 
the  full,  the  world  will  reckon  you  as  her  wisest  and  most 
renowned  master.  This  science  is  magic ;  and  if  you 
will  tnist  youi-self  to  my  guidance,  I  can  introduce  you 
to  a  university  at  Toledo  where  its  profoimdest  secrets 
are  taught  and  practised."  It  was  not  without  a  secret 
thrill  of  hon-or  that  Egidius  listened  to  the  suggestions 


S}8  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

of  the  fiend :  but  he  hesitated  not  to  stifle  the  whis- 
perings of  conscience ;  and,  dazzled  at  the  thought  of 
acquu-ing-  an  unbounded  possession  of  all  after  which 
his  heart  longed  with  so  passionate  an  ardour,  he  gave 
a  ready  consent,  and  they  took  the  road  to  Toledo. 

Far  from  every  human  habitation,  on  the  side  of  a 
desolate  mountain,  yawned  the  gloomy  entrance  into 
two  vast  subterranean  caverns :  this  was  the  school  of 
magic  of  which  the  fiend  had  spoken ;  and  it  was  here 
that  his  disciples  pursued  their  dark  and  imholy  studies 
As  he  drew  near  the  spot  with  his  new  victim,  there 
came  out  to  meet  them  several  of  these  unhappy  men, 
accompanied  also  by  demons  in  human  shape,  wlio  acted 
as  their  masters,  and  received  their  new  associate  with 
extraordinary  joy.  He  was  very  soon  initiated  into  the 
rules  and  mysteries  of  this  fearful  society;  he  sub- 
scribed their  laws  and  statutes,  and  submitted  to  the 
three  conditions  imposed  on  him  before  being  suffered 
to  become  a  member  :  the  first,  to  renounce  obedience 
to  the  laws  of  God ;  the  second,  to  abjure  the  faith 
and  his  baptismal  vows ;  the  third,  to  become  hence- 
forth the  pledged  bond-slave  of  Satan.  One  might  well 
suppose  such  a  contract  would  have  startled  the  most 
blind  and  hardened  ;  but  a  long  course  of  sin  and 
resistance  to  inspirations  of  Divine  grace,  had  rendered 
the  deptlis .  of  evil  neither  new  nor  terrible  to  Egidius, 
and  he  signed  the  paper  without  hesitation,  and  with 
his  own  blood. 

It  is  a  common  saying  that  the  devil  gets  better 
served  than  God.  Egidius,  the  votary  of  pleasure,  who 
was  impatient  of  a  ilay  which  did  not  bring  its  new 
excitement  and  indulgence,  consented  to  sjiend  seven 
years  in  these  gloomy  caverns,  severed  from  the  societv 
of  all  save  his  unhajipy  comj)anions,  whilst  he  g'ave 
himself  up  to  a  painful  and  weary  apprenticeship  in  tlie 
art  of  magic :  ^'  another  proof,"  stiys  his  Portuguese 
(Oironicler,  "that  the  service  of  Satan  is  a  haitler  bond- 
age than  the  yoke  of  Christ.     They  who  serve  this  loi-d 


THK  LEGEND  Of  BLESSED  EOIDIUS.  27 

think  no  labour  too  hard  to  attain  nnto  the  enjoyment 
of  a  pleasure,  which,  when  attained,  does  but  weary  and 
torment." 

Tie  left  the  Cavenis  of  Toledo  a  master  m  human, 
and  in  nwre  than  human  knowledge.  The  secrets  of 
hell,  the  liidden  and  mysterious  forces  of  nature,  were 
all  his  oAvn.  Aimed  with  a  power  which  no  rival  was 
ever  able  to  withstand,  he  now  appeared  in  Paris ;  and 
very  soon  was  rewarded  for  his  long  labours  by  a 
dazzling  and  universal  fame.  His  cures  were  little 
short  of  miraculous ;  his  skill  in  every  branch  of  me- 
dicine astonished  the  most  learned  :  but  deeper  and 
profounder  even  than  his  science  was  the  secret  coui-se 
of  unbridled  vice  to  which  he  gave  himself  up,  and 
which  seemed  to  penetrate  into  the  very  recesses  of  his 
degi'aded  being. 

Thus  dead  to  gi'ace  and  sunk  in  coiruption  lay  the 
soul  of  the  gifted  Egidius.  The  brilliancy  of  human 
intellect  and  a  rich  imagination  were  there  indeed ;  but 
they  were  like  the  fair  blossoms  which  hang  around  a 
gi-ave,  drawing  their  nourishment  from  its  deadly  con- 
tents, and  scarce  veiling  the  hideousness  that  lies  be- 
neath. Yet  this  man,  tlie  slave  of  hell  and  the  outcast 
of  the  world,  was,  in  the  eternal  counsels  of  God, 
chosen  to  be  a  living  monument  of  His  grace.  Nor 
was  the  manner  of  Iris  convereion  less  marvellous  than 
the  change  it  wrought. 

It  was  the  dead  of  night,  and  Egidius  sat  alone  in 
his  chamber,  surrounded  by  his  books.  Suddenly  the 
door  swung  on  its  hinges,  and  a  temblc  and  gngantic 
figure,  clad  in  brazen  armour  and  mounted  on  a  black 
steed,  rpde  into  the  apartment.  In  liis  hand  he  bore  a 
lance,  with  which  he  threatened  the  astonished  master; 
then,  in  a  voice  so  harsh  and  temble  that  it  would 
have  shaken  tlie  heart  of  any  ordinary  man,  he  cried, 
''  Change  thy  life,  unhappy  wretch  !" — repeating  tin-ice 
the  words,  "  Change  thy  life"  For  the  moment  a 
sensation  of  fear  did  indeed  pass  thi-ough  the  soul  nl' 
Egidius.     He  seemed  to  sec  hell  oi)cn  to  receive  him, 


28  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

and  the  hand  of  God  raised  to  cast  liim  in.  But  the 
feeling-  was  but  for  an  instant, — the  next  he  laughed  at 
his  own  weakness,  at  being-  disturbed  at  what  he  resolved 
to  consider  nothing-  but  a  troublesome  dream. 

Three  days  passed  away,  and  ag-ain,  at  the  same 
time  and  in  the  same  room,  he  sat  as  before.  And,  as 
before,  the  door  burst  open,  and  the  strang-e  horseman 
once  more  entered ;  but  this  time  in  a  far  more  tenible 
manner.  He  spurred  his  g-igantic  horse  at  full  speed 
right  at  Egidius;  and  as  the  fierce  animal  raised  its 
brazen  hoofs,  and  seemed  about  to  crush  him  to  the 
earth,  the  same  voice  sounded  beneath  the  closed  visor 
of  the  helmet,  "  Change  thy  life !"  and  then  the  raised 
lance  struck  on  his  heart,  and  he  fell  senseless  to  the 
ground.  He  awoke  from  a  long  and  fearful  trance, 
and  found  himself  another  man.  Like  Saul,  the  first 
words  that  rose  to  his  lips  were :  "  Lord,  what  wilt 
Thou  have  me  to  do?"  The  pain  of  his  mysterious 
wound  still  smarted  in  his  breast :  he  looked,  and  found 
a  scar  indeed,  but  perfectly  healed  and  cicatrised ;  but 
the  blow  had  struck  deep  into  his  heart.  His  eyes 
were  opened  to  Ij^Jiold  the  light,  and  its  first  rays  dis- 
covered to  him  the  darkness  that  reigned  within.  Well 
nigh  did  he  despair  of  pardon  and  salvation,  when  he 
remembered  the  renunciation  of  his  Baptism  and  the 
contnict  which  made  him  tlie  slave  of  Satan ;  but  the 
better  teaching  of  childish  days  roturaed  upon  him  in 
that  hour  of  grace,  and  a  thouglit  of  tiie  Lord  *vho 
had  died  for  him  was  strong  enough  to  save  liim  from 
despair.  There  was  indeed  a  bloody  compnct,  whirli 
sold  him  body  and  soul  to  the  powers  of  hell;  Init  he  re- 
membered another  purchase-deed  made  long  before,  and 
now  again  renewable, — sprinkled  over,  and  sigTied,  and 
sealed  with  the  precious  Blood  of  Chiist.  The  morn- 
ing lig-lit  ibund  him  still  y)lung-('(l  in  these  confiifting 
tliouglits :  he  looked  round  him,  and  saw  sci<.ttered 
!i]>out  the  room  tlie  books  of  magic  whicli  had  been  his 
srndv  tlie  night  before;  and  seizing  them  liastijy.  as  a 
first  sacrifice  and  token  of  his  rctui-niu';-  va^s.-ilafrf  to 


THE  LEOEND  OF  BLESSED  EOIUIUS.  29 

God,  he  cast  them  into  the  flames.  He  detennined  to 
leave  the  scene  of  his  sins  at  once  and  for  ever;  and,  re- 
turning to  Spain,  to  seek  admission  into  some  strict 
order  of  rehg^ious  penance.  His  joui-ney  was  a  sad  and 
painful  one ;  tormented  with  remoi-se,  his  niglits  were 
spent  without  sleep,  and  his  days  ahsorbed  in  melan- 
cnoly  reflections.  Distress  of  mind  so  prej'ed  on  him 
that  it  brought  on  a  low  fever ;  yet  he  would  not  rest 
in  his  journey  till,  entering  Spain,  he  arrived  at  the  city 
of  Valencia,  where  the  new  Order  of  Friars-Preachers 
were  just  estabhshed,  and  were  engaged  in  the  erection 
of  their  convent.  Egidius,  weary  and  worn  out  in  body 
and  mind,  paused  by  the  building  and  watched  the 
brethren  at  their  work.  With  modest  and  humble  yet 
cheerful  looks  they  passed  to  and  fro,  carrying  stones 
and  mortar, — all  busy  in  raising  the  walls  of  their  happy 
retreat.  Something  in  the  sight  touched  his  heart; 
perhaps  it  contrasted  with  the  unholy  labours  of  his 
own  solitary  life.  Every  tongue  was  full  of  the  sanc- 
tity of  the  new  religious, — of  their  rigour,  their  po- 
verty, and  their  heroic  work  for  God.  He  made  a 
rapid  and  wise  resolution;  and  presenting  himself  to 
the  prior,  told  him  tlie  story  of  his  life  in  the  sacred 
tribunal  of  confession.  The  prior  treated  him  with 
charity  and  gentleness,  and  did  not  doubt  to  receive 
him  to  absolution ;  for  he  saw  that  his  contrition  was 
time  and  unfeigned.  What  a  weight  was  lifted  from 
his  Jieart !  the  chains  that  had  so  long  bound  him  fell 
off,  and  he  saw  the  hapj)iness  of  serving  God,  and  the 
bondage  of  a  life  of  sin.  One  day  of  these  new  feelings 
and  desires  was  enough  for  the  impetuous  nature  of 
Egidius.  He  returned  to  the  convent;  and  casting 
himself  at  the  feet  of  the  prior,  besought  liim  to  suffer 
iiim  to  receive  the  habit.  "  Yesterday,"  he  said,  "  you 
saw  at  your  feet  the  greatest  sinner  of  the  world;  I 
tliouglit  to  find  in  you  a  severe  judge ;  I  found  only  a 
loving  father,  whose  tears  of  pity  joined  with  mine  to 
wash  away  the  stains  of  my  guilt.  That  spuit  of  love 
which  you  breathed  over  me  yesterday  has  brought  me 


80  CATHOLIC  LKUKNDS. 

back  to-day  to  crave  a  new  favour.  I  have  sinned 
enough;  admit  me  to  your  angeHc  brotherhood,  and 
teach  me  how  to  sanctity  the  soul  so  long'  drowned  in 
the  deep  watei-s  of  iniquity."  The  prior  embraced  him, 
and  promised  him  his  request  should  be  yi-anted ;  and 
in  a  few  days  Egidius  had  dismissed  his  servants  and 
attendants,  and,  sending  word  to  his  father  of  his  change 
of  intention,  received  the  holy  habit  with  sentiments  of 
the  deepest  fervour  and  contrition.  The  Convent  of 
Valencia  was  then  in  the  early  vigour  of  its  foundation. 
The  brethren  led  a  life  of  incredible  mortification  and 
iminterrupted  labour:  during  the  day  they  preached 
and  heard  confessions,  and  assisted  in  the  actual  build- 
ing of  their  church  and  convent ;  whilst  the  night  was 
given  as  much  to  ])rayer  and  watching  as  to  sleep. 
Their  food  was  as  coarse  and  scanty  as  that  of  tlie  an- 
cient fathers  of  the  desert. 

Prompt  obedience,  strict  silence,  charity,  peace  of 
soul,  and  hard  work, — such  were  the  elements  of  the 
new  life  to  which  Egidius  foimd  himself  so  wonderfully 
called.  It  was  a  holy  paradise ;  yet  it  proved  at  fii-st 
a  hard  stniggle  to  a  nature  so  long  accustomed  to  in- 
dulgence and  habits  of  luxury  as  was  his .  His  conver- 
sion was  indeed  sincere;  but  the  old  man  is  not  so 
quickly  laid  aside  as  to  render  so  severe  a  change  at 
once  sweet  and  supportnble.  Tliose  seven  years  of  no- 
vicesliij)  to  Satan  hud,  moreover,  to  be  expiated  by  long 
and  sore  travail  of  spirit  in  the  service  of  (lod.  Jlie 
remembrance  of  tlie  ]):ist  was  a  continual  agony ;  the 
rigour  of  tlie  present  seenieil  often  more  than  be  could 
bear.  Yet  in  tiiese  struggles  of  the  Hesh  against  the 
spii-it  Egidius  bore  himself  well  and  manfully  ;  with 
continued  labour  and  hard  austerities  he  quelled  the 
rebellion  of  the  senses,  whil>t  that  tongue,  so  long  given 
to  an  idle  and  woi'ldly  volubility,  was  now  resti'ained 
with  so  i-igorous  a  law  of  silence,  that  Pi.  llinii- 
bert,  who  wns  aftenvards  his  companion  and  fellow- 
studfnt,  has  left  it  on  record  in  liis  niemoii-s,  tlint  he 
never  once  heard  him  s})eak  an  idle  word.     He  studied 


THE  LEGEND  OP  BLESSED  EOIDIUS.  31 

how  to  mortify  himself  even  in  ways  which  his  nile  did 
not  touch ;  ana  refused  to  exercise  or  pui-sue  his  darling 
study  of  medicine,  save  under  obedience ;  as  though  he 
desired  to  turn  his  back  on  every  association  of  his  past 
life. 

Having  made  his  profession  in  1221,  he  was  soon 
after  sent  to  the  Convent  of  Santarem,  in  his  native 
coxmtry  of  Portugal.  There  he  led  a  life  of  the  same 
persevering  fervour ;  but  the  peace  of  his  soul  was  still 
wanting.  One  thought  ever  preyed  on  his  mind — the 
recollection  of  that  horrible  compact,  signed  with  his 
own  blood,  which  bound  him  to  Satan  as  his  slave  and 
bond-servant.  Many  a  night  did  he  lie  prostrate  before 
the  altar,  drownetl  in  bitter  tears,  and  imploring  the 
Divine  power  to  deliver  him  from  his  servitude  to  the 
powei-s  of  evil;  then  sometimes,  feeling  that  prayer  from 
such  as  l;e  was  could  not  reach  the  throne  of  God,  he 
would  have  recourse  to  the  sure  refuge  of  sinners — the 
most  loving  and  merciful  Mary — and  call  on  her  to  be 
his  advocate,  and  to  free  him  by  the  omnipotence  of 
her  intercession.  There  was  in  the  convent  church  of 
Santarem  a  devout  image  of  tlie  \'irgin  Mother;  and 
to  this  spot  I'^gidius  would  fly  for  refuge  from  his  own 
tonnenting  thoughts.  It  was  the  silent  witness  of  his 
long-  nights  of  prayer,  of  his  tears  and  discipline  to 
blood;  and  so  for  many  years  did  the  anguish  of  his 
soul  remain  imabated,  whilst  he  wore  out  in  penance 
the  scare  of  his  unforgotten  sins.  The  devil,  too,  en- 
raged at  the  loss  of  his  victim,  assaulted  him  with  in- 
cessant temptations  to  despair.  Often  he  appeared  to 
him  in  hideous  forms,  and  claimed  him  as  his  own  ;  and 
the  unhappy  penitent,  so  hardly  tried,  knew  no  better 
protection  at  such  times  than  in  the  repetition  of  the 
blessed  IName  of  Jesus.  Yet  never  once  did  his  faith  or 
constancy  fail.  Exhausted  with  l)0(iily  and  mental  suf- 
fering, he  would  drag  himself  to  tJie  foot  of  tlio  crucifix, 
and  strive  to  re"'ain  strentrtli  and  courap-e  at  the  siij-ht 
and  touch  of  those  pierced  feet.  Thus  seven  years  were 
spent  in  one  unintermpted  conflict  with  the  exterior  as- 


83  CATHOLIC  LEOEND8. 

Baults  of  Satan  and  interior  temptations  to  despair.  The 
time  at  last  came  wlien  the  vessel,  cleansed  and  purified 
.  by  so  long-  a  fire,  was  to  be  filled  with  the  sweet  and 
odoriferous  oil  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  One  nig^ht  he  was  at 
his  usual  post  before  that  image  of  the  Mother  of  God, 
whose  presence  had  a  power  over  his  soul  like  the  coo*, 
mountain  breeze  as  it  passes  over  the  dry  and  parched 
desert.  Infernal  voices  called  in  his  ears,  and  told  him 
his  prayers  were  vain,  and  there  was  no  hope  or  mercy 
for  him;  yet  still  he  knelt  and  prayed.  "  Star  of  hope^!" 
he  cried,  "  it  is  all  true.  My  sins  are  heavier  than  they 
say;  yet  they  cannot  weigh  down  the  Blood  which  was 
shed  for  me  on  the  Cross.  Ah,  sweet  fountain  of 
mercy !  take  the  cause  into  thine  own  hands ;  for  I  am 
tired  out  with  these  struggles,  and  can  do  no  more." 
And,  as  he  lay  prostrate  and  exhausted,  an  invisible 
force  scattered  the  hosts  of  hell,  and  a  clear  and  hor- 
rible voice  cried  aloud  :  "  There,  take  witli  my  bitterest 
curse  thy  written  bond;  but  know  this,  tbat  never 
would  I  have  given  it  up  to  thee,  had  I  not  been  com- 
pelled by  the  power  of  her  who  stands  on  that  altar, 
and  whom  you  call  the  Mother  of  God." 

Egidius  raised  his  weeping  eyes,  and  saw  foUing 
through  the  opening  of  the  roof  where  the  bell-ro{)es  of 
the  church  passed,  the  paper  he  had  signed  at  Toledo ; 
whilst  through  the  same  opening  a  strnnge  and  hideous 
form  was  escaping  with  a  gesture  of  baffled  malice.  The 
paper  fell  on  the  pavement  at  his  feet ;  he  grasped  it 
once  more  in  his  own  hands,  and  felt  ho  was  free, — and 
free  through  the  intercession  and  j^atronage  of  Mary. 
Wherefore,  kneeling  ag-iiin  befoi-e  her  image,  he  entered 
into  a  new  compact;  and  bound  himself  for  tlie  rest  of 
his  life  as  slave  to  that  sweet  Mother  who  had  broken 
the  bonds  of  his  servitude  and  restored  his  soul  to 
peace.  From  that  hour  the  darkness  and  tem])tation 
he  had  so  long  endured  vanished.  In  his  after-life  he 
tasted  some  of  the  deepest  of  those  spiritual  consolations 
with  which  God  is  wont  to  favour  His  chosen  servants ; 
and  his  chronicler,  in  narrating  some  of  his  ecstasies  and 


OUR  LADY  OF  CHARTRES.  88 

miracles,  and  the  unearthly  rapture  into  which  the  very 
sound  of  the  holy  Name  or  Jesus  was  wont  to  cast  him, 
observes :  "  A  strong;er  magic,  surely,  wore  these  things, 
than  aug-ht  that  ever  he  learned  in  the  caves  of  To- 
ledo." 

He  was  long  Provincial  of  Spain,  and  died  in  the 
year  1265,  being  universally  considered  the  greatest 
man  of  his  order  during  the  time  in  which  he  lived. 
The  circumstances  of  his  conversion,  as  given  above, 
are  found  in  most  of  the  early  chronicles ;  and  though 
omitted  by  Touron  in  his  biographical  notice  of  his  lite, 
yet  he  assigns  no  other  reason  for  the  omission  than 
the  "  unlikeliness"  of  the  whole  history ;  an  argument 
wliich  can  hardly  be  admitted  as  of  much  weight  m 
treating  of  the  supernatural  displays  of  God's  power. 


V. 

OUR  LADY  OF  CHARTRES. 

The  town  of  Chartres,  or  rather  the  whole  country 
which  surrounds  it,  was  before  the  Christian  era  the 
central  point  of  the  religion  of  the  Gauls.  There  was 
the  princij)al  college  of  their  Druids,  over  which  a 
supreme  pontiff  ruled  as  ])resident ;  and  there  also,  ac- 
cording to  ancient  traditions,  more  or  less  supported 
by  autiiority,  the  Draids  had  raised,  in  a  vast  grotto 
enclosed  by  a  circle  of  ancient  oaks,  an  altar  to  the 
Virgin  who  was  one  day  to  bring  fortli  the  Saviour 
of  the  world.  This  image,  we  are  told,  represented  a 
woman  seated  on  a  throne,  with  her  Son  on  her  knees ; 
and  robed  in  a  long  tunic  down  to  the  feet,  with  a  man- 
tle in  the  form  of  tui  antique  chasuble,  and  a  crown  on 
her  head  of  oak-leaves,  and  a  veil  hanging  from  it  over 
the  shoulders.  The  grotto  iu  which  it  was  ])laced  is 
the  crypt  of  the  jiresent  cathedral,  in  which  the  early 
Christians  celebrated  the  holy  mysteries  in  time  of  j)er- 


34  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

secution;  and  the  town  of  Chartres  has  ever  been  nnder 
the  especial  protection  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  who  has 
shown  her  favour  to  it  by  many  miracles. 

In  the  year  1116,  in  the  rei^n  of  Philip  I.,  on  the 
evening-  of  tlie  31st  of  October,  there  was  a  solemn  pro- 
cession in  the  subterranean  church  of  Chartres,  while 
hymns  of  praise  were  simg  to  our  Lady,  the  Queen  of 
"  All  Saints,"  whose  festival  was  to  be  celebrated  the 
next  day.  The  pious  Bishop  presided ;  wliile  the  crowd, 
fei'vent  and  recollected,  sang-  with  a  devout  heart.  The 
monks  and  priests  all  held  torches ;  at  intervals,  when 
the  procession  rested,  tlie  Bishop,  with  mitre  on  his  head 
and  crosier  in  his  hand,  blessed  tlie  faithful,  surrounded 
by  the  young'  phalanx  of  choristers  bearing  tapers. 

Among-  these  children  there  was  one  especially  re- 
marked as  being-  the  most  dilig-ent  and  recollected, 
thoug-h  he  was  but  ten  years  old.  He  was  the  son  of 
a  poor  widow,  who  found  in  him  her  treasui-e  and  her 
joy.  It  was  said  of  him  that  he  had  divided  his  heart 
into  three  portions,  of  which  he  had  g-iven  one  to  God, 
one  to  the  Blessed  Vir2;in,  and  one  to  his  mother ;  and 
all  these  three  affections  were  in  full  exercise.  JN'ever 
was  he  absent  from  a  religious  ceremony ;  never  were 
the  festivals  of  tlie  Blessed  Virg-in  celebrated  without 
his  being-  there  to  assist :  he  never  seemed  tlioroug-hly 
happy  except  in  church ;  and  when  in  tlie  narrow  streets 
of  this  ancient  town  a  chance  passer-by  asked  who  lie 
was,  he  never  failed  to  answer  with  an  innocent  pride, 
"  I  am  a  cliorister  of  our  Lady  of  Cliai-ti-es." 

The  motlier  of  this  sweet  child,  as  may  ))e  supposed, 
was  very  imwilling;  ever  to  have  him  out  of  lier  sig-lit ; 
and  therefore  she  was,  like  him,  assiduous  in  frocjuenting- 
the  house  of  God  ;  and  never  ceased  following-  liim  with 
her  eyes,  whetlier  he  was  serving  ]\rass,  or  carrying-  tlio 
little  vessel  of  holy  water,  or  whether,  in  attend-.mce  on 
tlie  g-ood  Bishop,  lie  formed  one  of  the  little  l)an(l  of 
wlioni  our  Lord  in  an  especisd  manner  coinmantled  tluit 
they  should  be  suffered  to  come  to  Him. 

On  the  evening-  of  which  we  are  speaking,  this  goo<l 


ova.  LADY  OP  CHAKTRES.  36 

mother  was  watching-  her  little  son,  as  lie  attended  on 
the  Bishop ;  and  was  fii-st  surprised,  and  then  anxious, 
when,  on  the  second  turn  of  the  procession,  she  missed 
him  from  tlie  ranks  of  his  young-  companions.  The 
third  tin-n  came  ;  and  lie  had  not  re-appeared.  What 
could  have  become  of  him  ?  When  the  function  was 
over,  tlie  faithful  retired  ;  but  the  mother,  who  had 
been  suffering-  for  more  than  half  an  hour,  hastened  into 
the  sacristy  with  a  hun-ied  though  modest  step,  and 
in  a  low  voice  asked  every  one  she  met  for  tidings  of 
her  son.  But  no  one  had  seen  him  disappear ;  and  it 
was  only  then  for  the  first  time  that  they  observed 
that  he  and  his  taper  were  missing". 

She  went  back  into  the  crypt  with  the  sacristans, 
who  sympathised  in  her  anxiety ;  the  other  choristers 
followed ;  then  the  priests  and  monks,  and  lastly  the 
good  Bishop  himself.  All  loved  the  gracious  child,  and 
took  an  interest  in  him;  and  all  were  anxious  to  find 
out  what  had  become  of  him,  whether  he  was  lying  ill 
in  some  remote  corner,  or  whether  he  had  forgotten 
himself  in  prayer  over  some  holy  tomb ;  for  that  crypi 
had  received  the  bones  of  several  martyrs. 

They  all  sought  in  vain  however ;  they  explored 
every  comer,  every  niche,  every  turn,  but  could  find 
nothing ;  they  called  the  child  again  and  again,  but  no 
answer  was  made :  so  they  concluded  at  last  that  he 
had  either  left  the  church  unperceived,  or  had  been 
carried  away,  or  that  he  had  fallen  into  a  deep  pit  just 
behind  the  old  altar  of  the  Druids.  There  the  mother 
ran,  with  her  torch  in  her  hand ;  and  she  had  no  sooner 
thrown  the  light  on  the  mouth  of  the  ])it,  than  she 
gave  a  cry  of  anguish  which  drew  all  the  party  to  her 
side  in  'an  instant.  At  the  bottom  of  the  pit  she 
thought  she  had  espied  a  white  surplice.  The  othei"s 
looked  in ;  but  by  the  imcertain  lig-ht  of  tlie  torclies 
they  covdd  see  nothing :  a  mother's  eye,  however,  was 
to  be  trusted  ;  and  by  the  Bishop's  desire,  tlie  most 
active  of  those  in  attendance  let  himself  cautiously 
down  to  the  bottom  of  the  well,  where  be  found  tin. 


36  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

poor  child,  drowned,  stiff,  insensible,  and  frozen   by 
death. 

All  stood  round  the  mother  in  silent  giief,  none 
daring;  to  attempt  to  console  her ;  for  she  seemed  quite 
stunned,  in  a  way  which  struck  awe  into  the  hearts  of 
all  around  her.  The  feeling,  however,  which  so  over- 
powered her,  was  not  consternation,  though  it  seemed 
like  it ;  it  was  an  impossibility  of  believing  that  her  son 
was  really  taken  from  her.  As  soon  as  the  child  was 
brought  to  the  top  of  the  pit,  she  seized  him  eagerly  in 
her  arms ;  and  rushing  to  the  altar  of  our  Lady,  she 
laid  liim  all  dripping  as  he  was  at  the  foot  of  the  holy 
image,  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  and  ci-ied : 

"  Behold  him,  Blessed  Virgin ;  this  dear  child  whom 
we  have  lost.  He  is  no  longer  mine.  Lady  of  Cliartres, 
he  is  yours;  I  have  given  him  to  you:  I  give  him. 
But  you  know,  dear  lady,  that  he  loves  you;  lie  was 
under  your  protection;  and  you  cannot  surely  suffer 
that  he  should  not  awake." 

The  tears  of  all  present  mingled  with  those  of  the 
widow  full  of  faith ;  all  knelt  roimd,  praying  and  sob- 
bing. But  few  dared  to  hope  that  a  child  who  had  been 
an  hour  drowned  could  possibly  revive ;  indeed,  scarcely 
any  except  the  good  Bishop  and  the  little  choristers, 
whose  young  hearts  dared  to  j)articipate  in  the  mother's 
hope.  But  faith  prevailed ;  the  child  of  miracle  opened 
his  eyes :  he  was  at  once  surrounded  and  borne  away 
from  the  altar,  and  his  voice  joined  in  the  rapturous 
thanksgiving  which  immediately  resounded  through 
those  ancient  vaults. 

When  the  fii-st  transports  of  joy  were  [)ast,  the  child 
thus  raised  from  the  dead  was  immediately  overwhelmed 
with  questions  ;  and  he  explained  that,  in  trying  to  get 
to  his  place,  he  had  been  imprudent  enough  to  pass 
behind  the  altar ;  and  not  thinking*  of  the  pit,  had  fallen 
into  it  headlong.  As  all  wondered  that  he  had  received 
no  injury,  and  knew  at  the  same  time  that  he  lost  all 
consciousness  of  life  during  the  hour  that  he  had  passed 
in  tlie  water,  they  asked  iiim  if  he  had  seen,  heard,  or 


BLESSED  BERNARD  AND  HIS  TWO  NOVICES.       37 

Celt  any  thing;.  "  I  felt  nothing,"  he  answered,  "  ex- 
;ept  a  wonderful  sensation  of  aeli^-ht ;  I  saw  nothins" 
jxcept  ang'els  moving-  gently  round  me ;  and  I  heard 
Qothing'  except  their  harmonious  voices,  which  responded 
in  the  words  of  the  Church  to  the  Lord  Bishop,  when 
he  addressed  to  the  faithful  the  Pax  vobhcum.  They 
also  responded  to  the  DoniinuM  vobiM'um  of  the  priest." 
Such  is  the  marvellous  adventure  of  the  cnorister 
of  our  Lady  of  Chartres.  The  Bishop  was  so  struck 
v/ith  the  wonderful  circumstance,  that,  in  order  to  pre- 
serve the  rememhrance  of  it,  he  estahlished  a  custom 
which  has  heen  observed  ever  since  in  the  cathedral  or 
Chartres ;  namely,  that  when  the  officiating  Bishop 
chants  tlie  P(i:v  vohlscum,  or  a  priest  tlie  Domnu,'s 
vohucum,  whether  at  ]\Iass,  or  at  Vespers,  Matins,  or 
any  of  the  canonical  hours,  the  choir  is  silent,  know- 
ing that  the  angels  are  chanting  the  responses,  and  that 
God  is  hearing  them. 


VI. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  BLESSED  BERNARD 
AND  HIS  TWO  NOVICES. 

At  the  time  that  the  cclel)rated  Egidius  was  pro- 
vincial of  Spain,  he  g'ave  the  habit  of  the  oi'der  to  a 
young  Gascon  named  Bernard,  who  was  received  into 
the  Convent  of  Santarem,  and  became  so  distingiiished 
among'  that  saintly  community  for  the  holy  simplicity 
of  his  life,  that  Andrea  of  Rosende,  in  his  Chronicle  of 
Portugal,  draws  a  parallel  between  him  and  his  great 
namesake  the  Abbot  of  Chiirvaux,  '■'  to  whom,"  he 
says,  "  he  bore  no  sniall  resombianco,  in  a  certain 
dove-like  innocence  and  simplicity  of  manners."  The 
czrcumstances  attendmg  his  death,  attested  by  almost 


■i^  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

all  the  ^vTite^s   on  the  history    of  the  order,  are  of 
peculiar  beauty. 

Bernard  filled  the  office  of  sacristan  in   the  Con- 
vent of  Santarem,  an  office,  the  exercise  of  which  was 
peculiarly  delightful  to  him,  fi'om  the  many  opportu- 
nities it  iii'ave  him  of  indulg'ing'  his  devotion  unseen  by 
any  one  out  his  Lord,  whom  lie  loved  to  honour  by  a 
reverent  care  of  the  altar  and  every  thing-  belong-ing 
to  the  Divine  mysteries.     Besides  this  employment, 
his  spare  time  was  occupied  in  the  education  of  two 
children,  the  sons  of  a  neig^hbouring-  (gentleman,  who  sent 
them  every  day  to  the  convent,  where  they  remained 
until   evening,    only  sleeping-  at  their  father's  house. 
These  two  boys  were  permitted  to  wear  the  novices' 
habit  of  the  Friai*s-Preachers,  being-  probably  destined  for 
the  order,  althoiigh  not  as  yet  received  into  tlie  com- 
munity; and  their  innocence  and  goodness  of  disposition 
rendered  them  peculiarly  dear  to  Blessed  Bernard.     It 
was  his  custom,  when  busy  in  the  sacristy,  to  allow 
them  to  remain  in  a  chapel  then  dedicated  to  the  Holy 
King-s  on  the  right  of  the  hi^h  altar,  where  they  used 
to   sit   on  the   altar-steps,  reading-,    or  writing   their 
exercises ;  spending-  their  time  quietly  and  happily  nntil 
their  master's  return.     Here  also  they  were  accustomed 
to  spread  out  the  dinnei-s  which  they  brought  with  them 
from  home,  which  tliey  took  tog-ether  in  the  same  place  as 
soon  as  they  had  finished  their  daily  lessons.   On  the  altar 
of  this  chapel,  which  was  seldom  used  for  tlie  purpose  of 
saying-  Mass,  there  was  an  image  of  the  Blessed  Vir- 
g-in,  holding  her  Divine  Son  in  her  arms ;  and  the  two 
children  came  to  look  on  the  Holy  Infant  almost  as  a 
companion,  and  were  wont  to  talk  to  Him,  as  He  seemed 
to  look  down  on  them  from  His  iVIother's  arms,  witli 
the  simple  familiarity  of  tlieir  ag-e.     One  day,  as  tlie\ 
thus  sat  on  the  altar-steps,  one  of  them  raised  his  eyes 
to  the  imag-e  of  the  little  Jesus  that  was  just  above 
him,  and  said,  "  Beautiful  Child,  how  is  it  you  never 
take  any  dinner  as  we  do,  but  always  remain  without 
moving  nil  day  long  ?  Come  down  and  eat  some  dinner 


BLESSED  BERNARD  AND  HIS  TWO  NOVICES.       39 

with  us, — we  will  give  it  to  you  witli  all  our  heaits." 
And  it  pleased  God  to  reward  the  innocence  and  simplfl 
faith  of  the  children  by  a  wonderful  miracle:  for  the 
carved  form  of  the  Holy  Child  'ecame  radiant  with 
life,  and  coming-  down  trom  His  Mother's  arms,  He 
sat  with  them  on  the  gi'ound  before  the  altar,  and  took 
some  of  their  dinner  with  them.  Nor  need  we  wonder 
at  so  "Teat  a  condescension,  remembering*  how  he  came 
uninvited  to  be  a  g-uest  with  Zaccheus  who  was  a  sin- 
ner, and  that  the  two  whom  he  now  consented  to  treat 
as  His  hosts  were  clothed  in  that  pure  robe  of  baptismal 
innocence  which  makes  us  worthy  to  receive  Him  under 
our  roof.  Now  this  happened  more  than  once,  so 
that  the  neglected  chapel  became  to  these  two  chil- 
dren full  of  the  joy  of  heaven ;  and  by  daily  convei-se 
with  their  Divine  Lord  they  grew  in  such  fervent  love 
towards  Him,  that  they  wearied  for  the  hour  when  they 
mig-ht  have  Him  with  them;  caring"  for  nothing"  else 
than  this  sweet  and  familiar  intercourse  with  the  Lord 
of  heaven.  And  their  parents  perceived  a  chang-e  in 
them,  and  how  their  only  pleasure  was  in  hastening"  to 
the  convent,  as  if  it  contained  a  secret  source  of  happi- 
ness which  had  not  been  revealed  before.  They  there- 
fore questioned  them  closely;  and  the  children  told  them 
every  thing"  without  reserve.  But  the  tale  seemed  to 
those  who  listened  nothing"  but  an  idle  invention,  or 
perhaps  an  artifice  in  order  to  obtain  a  larger  quantity 
of  food;  and  they  therefore  took  no  notice  of  what  they 
said  beyond  reproving"  them  for  their  folly. 

]{ut  when  they  repeated  the  same  story  to  B.  Ber- 
nard, he  listened  with  very  different  feelings ;  for  he 
knew  the  holy  hearts  of  his  two  little  disciples;  and  he 
felt,  moreover,  tliat  there  was  nothing  unworthy  of  belief 
in  the  fact  that  He  who,  being  God,  became  a  little 
child,  should  condescend  to  give  a  mark  of  favour  to 
those  of  whom  He  Himself  has  said,  that  "  of  such 
is  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  When,  therefore,  after 
many  inquiries,  he  iiad  satisfied  himself  of  the  truth  of 


40  CATHOLIC  LEOEXDS. 

their  tale,  he  bade  them  ^ive  glory  to  God  for  His 
goodness;  and  then  considered  whether  there  was  no 
way  in  which  tliese  circumstances  might  be  made  to 
serve  yet  further  to  the  happiness  and  sanctification  of 
his  pupils.  And  hearing  how  they,  in  their  childish 
way,  expressed  a  wonder  that,  after  thev  had  so  often 
invited  the  Cliild  to  eat  some  of  their  dinner.  He  had 
never  brought  any  food  with  Him  to  share  with  them, 
he  bade  them  the  next  time  He  came  ask  Him  how 
this  was,  and  whether  He  would  not  also  ask  them 
some  day  to  dine  with  Him  in  His  Father's  house.  Tlie 
boys  were  delighted  with  this  idea;  and  they  failed  not 
to  do  as  they  were  directed  the  next  time  that  they 
were  alone  in  the  chapel.  Then  the  Child  smiled  on 
them  graciouslv,  and  said,  "  What  you  say  is  very  just; 
within  three  days  I  invite  you  to  a  banquet  in  I\Iy 
Father's  house :"  and  with  this  answer  they  returned 
full  of  joy  to  their  master.  He  well  knew  the  mean- 
ing of  this  invitation :  the  change  that  had  gradually 
appeared  in  his  two  beloved  disciples  had  not  been 
unmarked  by  him ;  he  had  seen  them,  as  it  were  before 
their  time,  growing  ripe  for  heaven;  and  he  understood 
that  it  was  the  Divine  pleasure,  after  thus  training  them 
for  Himself  in  a  marvellous  way,  that  they  should  be 
transplanted  to  the  angelic  company,  before  their  hearts 
had  once  been  touched  by  the  knowledge  of  sin  or  the 
contamination  of  the  world.  Yet  he  sighed  to  think 
that  they  should  thus  be  granted  to  pass  to  Christ  in 
their  hapj)v  infancy,  whilst  he,  who  had  gi-ovvn  old  in 
the  spiritual  warfare,  was  to  be  left  behind ;  and  resolving 
to  make  one  more  trial  of  the  condescension  which  haa 
been  so  boimteously  lavished  on  his  pupils,  he  bade  them 
go  back  again  to  the  chapel,  and  tell  the  Divine  Child 
that  since  they  wore  the  habit  of  the  Order,  it  was  ne- 
cessary for  them  to  observe  the  rules ;  and  that  it  was 
never  permitted  for  novices  to  accept  of  any  invitation, 
or  go  to  the  house  of  any  person,  except  in  their 
master's  company.     "  Return,  then,  to  your  master," 


BLESSED  BERNARD  AND  HIS  TWO  NOVICES.       41 

said  the  Holy  Child,  "  and  bid  him  be  of  the  company; 
and  on  Thm-sday  moniing  I  will  receive  you  all  thi-ee 
together  in  My  Father's  house." 

Bernard's  heart  bounded  with  emotion  when  he 
heard  these  woi-ds.  It  was  then  the  first  of  the  Ro- 
gation Days,  and  the  day  which  had  been  appointed 
was  therefore  Ascension  Day.  He  made  every  ar- 
rangement as  for  his  approaching  death,  and  obtained 
leave  on  that  day  to  say  the  last  Mass, — his  two  disciples 
serving  during  tne  celebration,  and  receiving  Communion 
from  his  hands.  Doubtless  it  would  be  hard  for  us  to 
realise  his  feelings  of  devout  and  joyful  expectation  dur- 
ing those  moments.  And  when  Mass  was  ended,  he 
knelt  before  the  same  altar  with  tlie  children,  one  on 
either  side,  and  all  three  commended  their  souls  to 
God,  as  though  they  knew  their  last  hour  was  come, 
and  the  altar-steps  were  to  be  their  deathbed.  And  it 
was  even  so.  An  hour  after,  some  of  the  brethren  found 
them  still  kneeling  thus  before  the  altar,  Bernard  vested 
as  for  Mass,  and  the  two  boys  in  their  serving-robes. 
But  they  w'ere  quite  dead  :  their  eyes  were  closed,  and 
their  faces  wore  a  smile  of  most  sweet  tranquillity;  and 
it  was  evident  that  there  had  been  no  death-struggle, 
but  that  tlieir  souls  had  [)assed  to  the  presence  of  God 
whilst  in  the  very  act  of  pi-ayer.  They  were  buried  in 
the  Chapel  of  the  Holy  Kings,  wliich  had  been  the 
scene  of  so  many  of  our  Lord's  visits  to  the  two  chil- 
dren ;  and  a  picture  was  hung  up  over  the  spot,  repre- 
senting them  seated  on  the  aitar-step,  with  the  Divine 
Child  hetween  them. 

This  was  the  only  monument  to  mark  the  place  of 
their  burial;  and  in  course  of  yeai-s  the  memory  of  it 
was  lost,  and  the  chapel  became  di>iised  and  neglected 
as  before.  One  of  the  succeeding  j  triors  of  the  convent, 
wisliing  to  find  some  further  reconl  of  the  ancient  tm- 
dition,  dug  down  beneath  the  spot  indicated  by  tiie 
picture;  taking  care  to  have  two  aj)ostolic  notaries  and 
the  vicar-general  of  the  diocese  present,  together  with 
other  authorities  of  distinction  and  credit.     At  a  little 


42  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

distance  beneath  the  sixrface  a  carved  stone  sarcophagy 
was  found,  wlxich  being  opened,  the  church  was  imme- 
diately  filled  with  an  odour  of  surpassing  sweetress; 
and  on  removing  the  clothes  that  lay  on  the  top,  the 
remains  of  three  bodies  were  discovered,  which  they 
coidd  not  doubt  were  those  of  B.  Bernard  and  his  no- 
vices ;  for  the  bones  of  the  middle  skeleton  were  of 
the  size  of  a  grown  man,  whilst  those  on  either  side 
were  small  and  delicate.  From  tlie  great  number  of 
years  that  had  passed,  most  of  them  were  i-educed  to 
mere  dust ;  but  some  portions  of  white  cloth  showed 
that  they  had  been  buried  in  the  habit  of  the  order. 
The  memory  of  this  history  has  been  presented  even 
up  to  our  own  times;  for  from  the  time  of  this  solemn 
translation  of  their  bodies,  a  Mass  of  the  Ascension 
was  celebrated  every  Thui-sday,  in  thanksgiving  ibr  the 
graces  granted  to  them,  and  a  confi-ateraity  of  tlie  In- 
fant Jesus  established,  to  whom  the  custody  of  the  an- 
cient inonge  was  intrusted.  Their  death  is  supposed  by 
Sosa  to  have  taken  place  about  the  year  1277.* 


VIL 

THE  LAKE  OF  THE  APOSTLES. 

The  city  of  Mons,  which  owes  its  origin  to  the  holy 
St.  Vaudru  more  than  to  the  old  Roman  camp  of 
Cicero's  brother,  began  to  increase  in  impoi-tance  in 
874.     Charlemagne,  seventy  yeai-s  before,  had  raised 

*  Another  story  occurs  in  the  Dominican  nnnals,  whose  par- 
ticulars are  almost  precisely  similar  to  tliose  narrated  above; 
except  that  there  was  but  one  child  to  whom  the  vision  of  our 
Lord  appeared,  and  that  the  scene  of  the  story  is  laid  in  Ma- 
jorca. J'here  is,  however,  ample  evidence  that  it  is  not  a  dif- 
ferent version  of  the  same  event,  as  might  be  supposed,  but  that 
they  are  two  distinct  and  well-authenticated  facts.  It  has  not, 
however,  been  thought  necessary  to  insert  the  second  in  this 

flace,  from  the  strong  similarity  it  bears  to  that  given  above, 
t  occurred  at  the  time  uf  the  great  jdaguc  in  13A8. 


THE  LAKE  OF  THE  APOSTLES.  43 

It  to  the  dignity  of  an  earldom.  The  last  Count  of 
Mens,  Alhon  II.  had  left  his  estates  to  his  only  daugh- 
ter Albraide.  She  was  the  happy  bride  of  Reamer, 
surnaiaed  the  Long-heeled,  a  knight  celebrated  for  his 
braveiT  no  less  than  for  his  manly  beauty.  "  Never, 
never,"  say  the  old  chronicles,  "  had  there  Hved  a  more 
devoted  pair  than  Albraide  and  RegTiier."  Beloved  by 
all  their  subjects,  they  were  occupied  in  enlarging*  and 
adorning  their  city,  which  in  those  days  did  not  occupy 
a  third  of  the  ground  covered  by  the  present  beautiful 
and  flourishing  town,  when  a  sudden  invasion  of  Nor- 
mans came  upon  them. 

Many  times  already  since  the  death  of  Charlemagne 
the  northem  barbarians  had  appeared  like  a  wlmlwind 
on  the  coasts  of  France.  Baldwin  of  the  Iron-arm  had 
driven  them  from  Flanders ;  but  now  messenger  after 
messenger  announced  that  their  sails  appeared  riding 
over  the  waves,  and  bearing  death  and  misery  to 
France. 

Reg-nier  was  brave ;  like  Baldwin  of  the  Iron-arm, 
he  was  of  noble  blood;   and  like   him,  he  called  to- 

f;"ether  his  warriors,  and  armed  himself  for  battle.  Al- 
)raidp,  weeping  and  anxious,  hastened  to  shut  herself 
in  a  little  cliapcl  which  she  had  raised  in  honour  of  the 
Twelve  Ajiostles,  and  where  she  siient  the  remainder  of 
the  day  in  tearful  prayers  for  her  country  and  her 
knight. 

Meanwhile  Regnier  had  advanced  to  Tournai,  which 
he  hoped  to  defend.  But  he  had  only  been  able  to 
collect  a  handful  of  men,  and  the  Normans  cfime  in 
legions.  The  fleet  was  headed  by  RoUo,  or  Rolf,  the 
fiercest  and  the  most  dreaded  of  all  the  warriors  of  the 
noitli.  Weary  of  his  dangerous  and  advcntuious  life, 
he  had  vowed  to  take  up  his  jjormam-nt  abode  in  the 
richest  country  wliicli  earth  CiUild  ofl'er  him;  and  the 
conquest  of  Huinault  was  one  to  kindle  all  his  ambition. 
It  was,  therefore,  witli  the  fury  of  a  baftled  demon  that 
Rolf  advanced  upon  Regnier.      He  fought  with  des- 


44  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

perate  courage;  he  led  forth  a  gigantic  army;  and  the 
young  count  was  driven  back. 
But  Albraide  was  praying. 

Battle  upon  battle  did  Regnier  wage ;  still  day  by 
day  repulsed,  and  day  by  day  returning  to  the  charge 
with  renewed  courage.  Before  long,  however,  he  was 
forced  to  acknowledge  to  himself  that  it  was  impos- 
sible to  be  victorious  in  open  warfare  against  Rolf  He 
retired  to  the  neighbourhood  of  Conde,  and  there  tried 
by  ambushes  and  night  attacks  to  harass  the  enemy. 
And  Albraide  still  prayed  on. 
One  day  she  knelt  before  the  altar  of  the  Apostles, 
when  the  sound  of  a  footstep  sent  her  blood  to  her 
heart.  She  tui-ned.  A  messenger  fi-om  her  husband's 
camp  stood  before  her.  Glad  indeed  were  the  tiding-s 
which  he  brought.  Regnier  had  captured  lioUo's 
twelve  principal  generals.  A  holiday  was  proclaimed 
through  all  the  castle ;  all  hearts,  from  that  of  tlie  coun- 
tess to  her  lowest  serf,  beat  high  with  joy.  And  after 
reciting  together  with  all  her  household  a  fervent  'Te 
Deiim.,  Albraide  retired  to  rest  and  to  hopeful  dreams. 
Alas !  on  the  next  morning  a  woful  change  had 
fallen  upon  the  castle;  all  sounds  of  joy  and  triimiph 
had  given  way  to  tears  and  bitter  lamentations.  A  mes- 
senger had  arrived  with  early  dawn,  bringing  the  news 
that  the  young  Count  of  Mons,  the  hero  and  the  glory 
of  his  people,  was  taken  captive. 

Long  and  most  bitterly  did  his  .young  bride  weep. 
But  when  the  first  bitterness  was  past,  she  consoled  her- 
self with  the  idea,  that  it  would  be  easy  to  ransom  her 
husband  by  setting  at  liberty  the  twelve  Norman  gene- 
rals. But,  by  and  by,  she  heard  to  her  dismay  that 
Rollo  would  not  consent  to  such  an  exchange ;  that, 
knowing  well  how  dearly  loved  the  young  count  was, 
he  would  only  surrender  such  a  prize  when  his  country 
should  be  given  uj).  And  lastly,  a  messenger  arrived 
with  the  news  that  Rollo  threatened  to  cut  oif  the  head 
of  his  prisoner  at  once. 


THE   LAKE  UF  THE  APOSTLES.  46 

Then  the  youn^  countess  seemed  to  lose  her  pre- 
sence of  mind  and  her  courage.  In  the  restlessness  of 
her  ag'ony  she  flew  out  of  the  palace  and  out  of  the 
town,  only  imploring-  to  be  left  alone.  No  one  at- 
tempted to  follow  her.  There  are  moments  in  war 
when  only  selfish  fears  can  make  themselves  heard; 
and  the  people  of  Mons  already  imagined  the  savage 
Northmen  in  their  desecrated  homes. 

Despair  in  her  heart,  and  madness  in  her  brain,  the 
wretched  Albraide  rushed  into  the  open  country,  and  in 
the  direction  of  a  deep  lake  which  lay  not  far  from  the 
city.  And  now  its  cold  cpiiet  waters  lay  before  her; 
and  her  good  angel  must  have  trembled  for  her.  Be- 
wildered, miserable,  tempted  almost  beyond  her  strength, 
she  was  already  on  the  brink,  and  ,one  moment  more 
would  have  hurried  her  into  etemity.  But  suddenly, 
upon  the  bordei-s  of  the  lake  rose  up  before  her  a  vene- 
rable man  in  flowing  antique  robes,  and  leaning  on  a 
pilgi-im's  staft'.  She  turned  awa\'  to  avoid  him ;  ano- 
ther, like  him  in  appearance,  again  stood  before  her. 
Further  on,  a  third  a])peared,  holding  rays  in  his  hand ; 
a  fourtl),  leaning  on  a  Greek  cross:  twelve  ancient  men, 
marked  by  different  emblems, — a  scythe,  a  sword,  a 
palm,  and  a  chalice, — surrounded  the  lake,  as  if  to 
guard  it. 

The  countess  hun-ied  round  it  again  and  again, 
without  remarking  that  the  old  men  were  slowly  fol- 
lowing her;  till,  at  the  point  where  she  had  first  seen 
the  pilgi'im  with  his  staff,  they  all  surrounded  her,  and 
with  one  solemn  voice  addressed  her  : 

"  Albraide,  God  in  His  mercy  saves  you  fi-om  a 
fearful  sin :  a  thought  is  in  your  heart  which  you  have 
never  oflered  up  to  Him  ;  but  we  have  not  forgotten  you, 
poor  suft'ering  child  !  Send  ])ack  the  twelve  generals. 
Return  to  Mons  :  do  all  which  the  barbarian  demands, 
and  you  will  see  your  Kegnier  again." 

A  light  streamed  over  the  black  waters  as  the  vision 
disappeared  :  and  in  its  radiance  knelt  Albraide, — weep- 
ing- bitterly,  indeed,  but  now  with  soft  and  healthful 


4(5  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

teai-s.    She  could  not  doubt  but  her  preservers  from  sin 
and  death  were  no  otliers  than  the  twelve  apostles. 

She  quickly  regained  her  i)alace,  and  summoned  the 
twelve  prisoners  before  her. 

"  You  are  free,"  she  said ;  "return  to  your  leader; 
and  may  he  deal  by  RegTiier  as  I  have  dealt  by  you." 

The  twelve  g"enerals  looked  one  upon  the  otlier  in 
surprise.  Free  from  their  chains,  they  returned  to  their 
camp,  blessing"  and  praising*  the  g'cnerous  countess. 

The  people  of  Mons,  however,  had  already  sent  to 
neg"otiate  with  Rollo  for  the  liberation  of  their  prince. 
The  barbarian  had  demanded  as  ransom,  not  only  the 
liberty  of  his  twelve  generals,  but  also  all  the  g-old  and 
silver  in  Ilainault ;  and  that  Albraide  should  swear  by 
her  God,  that  neither  jewels  or  costly  ornaments  of  any 
kind  remained  in  her  castles  nor  in  her  churches,  lie 
also  demanded  a  contribution  in  kind  for  the  mainten- 
ance of  his  troops.  Twenty-four  hours  were  given  to 
the  people  of  Mons ;  and  if  by  that  time  the  ransom 
was  not  paid,  they  mig'ht  expect,  said  Hollo,  to  receive 
the  head  of  their  count. 

Hollo  had  not  recovered  from  his  surprise  at  the  re- 
turn of  his  generals,  when  the  first  waggon  containing 
the  gold  and  silver  arrived,  '^i'he  spoils  of  every  palace, 
church,  or  castle,  followed  from  hour  to  hour  ;  and  last 
of  all  arrived  the  jewels  of  the  young  countess. 

Surprised  and  touched  tln-ougli  all  his  rugged  na- 
ture. Hollo  summoneil  Hegnier  to  his  presence,  fell 
upon  his  neck,  presented  liim  with  a  horse,  and  insisted 
on  himself  acc()nij)anying  him  home  to  his  wife,  to  wliom 
he  restored  all  her  treasin-es. 

"  Due  Hegnier,"'  he  said,  "  between  you  and  me 
there  must  be  perpetual  pence  and  an  eternal  friend- 
ship." 

Pressing-  his  hand,  he  swore  to  respect  for  his  sake 
Hainaidt  and  I'rabimt,  set  sail  for  the  open  sea,  and 
liii>teued  oti"  to  c()n(|Ufr  that  part  of  France  which  has 
fcince  been  named  ^iormandy. 

In  memory  of  tlie  countess's  vision,  the  lake  where 


THE  CHILI)  OF  THE  JEW.  47 

she  had  seen  the  twelve  venerable  men  has  ever  sinc6 
been  named 

TJi^  Lake  of  the  Apostles. 


VIII. 

THE  CHILD  OF  THE  JEW. 

In  the  year  527,  there  was  at  Bourses  a  school  much 
frequented  both  by  rich  and  jwor,  and  even  by  the  chil- 
di-en  both  of  Christians  and  Jews,  without  any  distinc- 
tion either  of  rank  or  of  relig'ion. 

Now  it  ha[)pened  that  a  Jewish  artisan  had  a  little 
son  of  twelve  years  old,  who  daily  went  with  other 
children  to  this  school.  He  was  a  favourite  with  his 
companions,  despite  his  despised  relig-ion ;  and  after 
school  he  Avas  in  the  habit  of  ling-ering"  in  the  cool 
evening-  hom-s  to  enjoy  a  g'amc  of  play  with  them  in  the 
streets.  Olten  he  saw  them  enter  the  church,  and 
kneel  before  a  much  revered  statue  of  our  Lady :  there 
they  would  offer  flowers,  or,  with  the  ready  and  playfiil 
devotion  which  characterises  the  Catholic  chilci,  they 
would  run  to  our  Blessed  Lady  as  to  a  mother,  and  beg- 
her  blessing-  on  their  work  or  play,  or  render  their  simple 
acts  of  thanksg-iving-  for  a  well-learnt  lesson  or  a  success- 
fid  g-arne.  Tiie  little  Jew  did  as  they  did ;  and  often 
p:-ayed  as  fervently  as  any  of  them  to  her  whom  he  did 
not  yet  know,  ]>ut  whom  he  had  so  often  heard  spoken 
of  as  the  Mother  of  God.  At  the  Feast  of  Easter, 
which  was  celebrated  with  g-reat  ])omp  and  joy,  many 
children  approached  the  holy  altar  to  partake  of  the 
Bread  of  Lite.  They  were  easily  to  be  recog-nised  from 
the  rest,  as  tliey  entered  tlie  church  in  their  sjHjtless 
g-arnieiits,  with  heads  bowed  down,  and  (piiet  and  joy 
beaming-  on  each  innocent  and  earne?t  face.  The  little 
Jew  felt  a  thrill  of  envy — envy  such  as  a  saint  might 
have  felt,  and   asked  himself  with  teai-s   in   his  eves 


48  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

why  lie  should  not  join  them?  Surely  the  Son  of 
that  beautiful  Lady  whom  he  loved  so  much,  that 
sweet  Lady  to  whom  he  had  so  often  offered  liowers, 
— would  not  shut  him  out  from  this  happy  troop.  And 
he  joined  himself  to  them.  The  priest  did  not  know 
him,  and  he  received  the  Holy  Eucharist  among-  tlie 
rest.  It  was  innocently  done ;  and  perliaps  few  thanks- 
giving's were  more  fervent  or  more  deeply  felt  than 
that  of  the  ignorant  little  Jew.  The  IMass  ended, 
and  after  a  visit  to  his  well-known  and  dearly-loved 
statue,  the  little  one  returned  home.  The  child's  fre- 
quent absences  of  late  had  passed  unobserved  by  his 
father,  a  busy,  silent  man,  who  took  little  heed  of  his 
son's  doing-s ;  but  on  this  occasion  he  had  been  away  an 
unusually  long  time,  and  his  father  broke  silence  at 
last,  to  ask  where  he  had  been.  The  child  told  him  at 
once  how  dearly  he  loved  Our  Lady's  statue ;  how  often 
he  had  visited  it ;  and  how  that  day  he  had  at  last  re- 
ceived the  Christian's  Ibod,  the  Bread  of  Angels,  as  he 
had  been  taught  to  call  it.  Ilis  father  was  one  of  those 
men  who  combine  utter  carelessness  in  the  practice  of 
all  that  regards  their  own  creed,  with  a  bitter  and  per- 
secuting hatred  of  any  other.  That  his  son  should  have 
neglected  any  religion,  that  he  should  have  grown  up  an 
unbeliever  or  a  bad  man,  would  have  troubled  him  little  ; 
but  tliat  he  should  have  become  a  Ciiristian,  tliis  was  an 
offence  which  awakened  every  evil  feeling  of  his  dark 
and  gloomy  nature  ; — that  liis  child  slioiild  ever  have  set 
foot  in  tlie  place  of  worship  of  tliose  dere>ted  Christians, 
was  a  blot  on  liis  name  never  to  be  washed  out.  He 
flcAV  ujion  tlie  hel{)less  boy  witli  the  fury  of  a  demon, 
seized  him,  and  hurled  him  with  a  volley  of  cui-ses  into 
the  blazing-  furnace  which  he  was  then  tending,  Throw- 
ing two  enoi-mous  faggots  after  him  to  make  his  fate 
sure.  It  was  over  in  a  moment;  and  soon  after  rho 
boy's  mother  entered.  She  had  seen  her  child  returning-, 
and  followed  him  as  quickh'  as  she  could;  and  now  she 
was  much  astonished  at  not  seeing  him  here. 

"  Where  is  the  child  ?"  she  asked  :  but  her  hus})and 


THE  CHILD  OF  THE  JEW.  49 

made  no  answer ;  and  the  poor  woman,  now  beginning 
to  feel  a  vague  tenor,  ran  into  every  comer  of  her  own 
house  and  those  of  her  neighbours,  caUing  on  her  boy, 
at  first  with  anxiety,  then  with  wild  terror.  At  last  she 
fancied  that,  in  answer  to  her  frenzied  cries,  she  heard 
his  voice ;  she  called  again,  and  again  the  voice  replied. 
The  neighbours  who  had  gathered  round  her  stood 
aghast  with  terror, — the  voice  seemed  to  come  from  the 
furnace ;  and  the  horror  and  astonishment  were  at  their 
height,  when  the  boy's  father,  who  had  maintained  a 
sullen  demeanour  during  the  whole  time,  was  seen, 
with  an  expression  of  rage,  to  seize  a  fagot,  which  he 
attempted  to  fling  into  the  furnace.  Some  of  the 
neighbours  held  him  back,  othei-s  hastened  to  extinguish 
tne  blazing  charcoal  and  wood ;  and  at  last,  to  the  be- 
wilderment and  astonishment  of  all,  the  boy  was  drawn 
out  uninjured.  Not  a  thread  of  his  dress,  not  a  hair  of 
his  head,  was  singed ;  and  his  little  cheeks  were  as  cool 
and  rosy  as  if  he  came  from  a  bath,  rather  than  a  ftir- 
nace  heated  to  its  gi-eatest  extent.  When  the  first 
burst  of  horror,  joy,  and  gi-atitude,  with  their  mingled 
smiles  and  sierhs,  was  over,  the  child  gave  his  own  simple 
history.  *'  It  was  the  kind  lady  of  the  church,"  he 
said,  "  who  had  received  him  in  her  arms,  and  protected 
him  from  the  flames  in  the  folds  of  her  white  mantle." 
The  fate  of  the  wretched  father  is  unknown ;  but  the 
mother  and  her  child  became  Christians. 

Such  was  the  history  of  the  little  Jew  :  may  we 
take  example  by  his  simple  faith ;  and  may  Mary,  the 
Mother  of  Mercy,  wrap  us  in  the  spotless  folds  of  her 
mantle  from  a  more  cruel  enemy  and  a  yet  m.oi  e  fieiy 
ftiniace. 


60  nATHOLIC  LEQENDS. 

IX. 

OUR  LADY  OF  GALLORO. 

Of  all  the  retreats  scattered  up  and  down  along  the 
sides  of  the  Alban  and  Sabine  Hills,  in  which  the  Romans 
and  their  giiests  seek  shelter  from  the  summer  heats, 
there  is  none  more  peaceful  and  more  pleasant  than  the 
little  villag'e  of  L'Ariccia.  Prettily  situated  on  the 
summit  of  one  of  those  knolls,  or  minor  eminences, 
which  form  the  outskirts  of  tlie  Alban  range  where 
first  it  begins  to  rise  out  of  the  CampnpTia,  it  still  re- 
tains those  ancient  characteristics  by  which  it  is  known 
to  the  classical  student.  As  your  carriage  toils  slowly 
up  the  steep  ascent  by  wliich  the  village  is  entered  from 
the  side  of  Rome,  it  is  beset  by  troops  of  beggars, 
imploring  the  same  assistance,  and  using  (in  many 
instances)  the  very  same  outward  gesture  as  their  fore- 
fathers did  in  the  days  of  Juvenal  ;*  when  you  have 
reached  the  top,  and  penetmted  nearly  to  the  end  of 
the  one  long  narrow  street  of  wbich  the  village  consists, 
you  come  to  a  very  unpretending  but  very  comfortable 
little  hotel,  which  might  serve  as  the  genuine  repre- 
sentative of  that  "  Jio-^pit'mm  modrntni^  wherein  Ho- 
race t  took  his  first  night's  rest  in  his  celebrated  jouhiey 
from  Rome  to  Brindisi ;  and  if  you  go  on  but  a  few 
paces  further,  and  pass  under  tlie  archway  at  the  other 
extremity  of  tlie  viUage,  you  find  yourself  at  once  in 
that  thick  dark  wood,  tliat  *'  Ximus  Aricimim  ,^'  through 
which  many  an  ancient  Avorshi])per  of  Jupiter  LatiaHs 
must  often  have  possed  on  his  way  to  or  from  tlie 
solemn  assemblies  that  were  wont  to  be  held  on  the 
summit  of  Monte  Cavi.  It  is  not,  however,  with  the 
classical  associations  of  this  little  villoge  that  we  ore 
now  concerned,  but  witli  a  shrine  in  its  immediate  neigh- 

*  Sat  i%-.  117-8.  t  '  Sat.  v.  2. 


OUR  LADY  OF  OALLORO.  61 

bourhood  dedicated  to  the  Holy  Mother  of  God,  to 
which  the  inha'l)itants  have  a  very  special  devotion, 
and  which  is  continually  visited  by  all  strangers  who 
happen  to  have  taken  up  their  abode  for  the  summer 
months  in  any  of  the  adjacent  villag-es. 

It  was  in  the  early  spring-  of  the  year  1621,  that  a  boy, 
named  Santi  Bevilacqua,  a  native  of  Tuscany,  but  th(m 
living;  with  his  uncle  (a  carpenter)  at  L' Ariccia,  was  out 
in  this  wood  on  some  boyish  quest  after  wild  fruits  or 
flowers ;  and  in  the  com-se  of  his  rambles,  he  chanced 
to  spy  what  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  piece  of  hig-h  wall 
or  broken  rock,  thickly  surrounded  with  brambles  and 
all  sorts  of  underwood.  Impelled  by  an  idle  curiosity, 
or  by  some  other  motive  of  which  we  have  no  accoimt, 
he  peered  more  closely  into  this  dense  mass  of  wild 
tang-led  vegetation,  until  he  fancied  that  he  saw  ag-ainst 
the  face  of  the  rock  something-  shining  and  coloured. 
Having-  removed,  as  well  as  he  was  able,  all  the  impedi- 
ments in  his  way,  he  discovered,  to  his  great  delig-lit. 
that  there  was  a  picture  there  of  our  Blessed  Lady 
holding;  tlie  Divine  Infant  in  her  arms,  for  which,  with 
the  true  instinct  of  a  Catholic  child,  he  immediately 
conceived  a  very  lively  devotion;  and  falling  on  his 
knees,  s])ent  a  considerable  time  in  jn-ayer  and  medita- 
tion before  it.  For  some  time  the  boy  took  a  great 
pride  in  kepjjing-  his  discovery  a  profound  secret  from 
all  his  companions;  and  every  day,  as  he  left  school, 
he  used  to  steal  away  as  secretly  as  he  could,  and  pay 
a  solitary  visit  to  his  dear  Madonna.  He  had  no  other 
means  of  finding  his  way  to  the  spot  tlian  by  faitlifuUy 
following-  the  course  lie  had  chanced  to  pursue  on  the 
day  of  the  original  discovery;  yet  thi.-,  lie  was  well 
aware,  was  needlessly  long-  and  ciicuitous.  He  set 
about,  therefore,  to  make  a  more  direct  patli  for  himself; 
but  as  this  jjroved  to  be  a  task  beyond  his  strengtli,  he 
was  obliged  to  call  to  his  assistance  some  of  his  older 
scliooliellows.  These  went  to  work  with  admirable 
dilig-ence,  and  m.'mii2-ed  to  force  a  passage  tln-ougli  a 
great  deal  of  ))i"ushwood,  until  they  had  neai-ly  arrived 


62  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

at  the  object  of  their  desires.  But  here  the  wood  grew 
thicker  and  more  stout,  and  no  force  whicli  this  band  of 
juvenile  workmen  could  command  would  make  any 
impression  upon  it.  Day  after  day  they  renewed  their 
attempts,  but  always  failed.  At  last  one  of  them  sug-- 
gested  a  brilliant  idea,  which,  with  the  characteristic 
thoug-htlessness  of  their  age,  they  immediately  pro- 
ceeded to  carry  into  execution.  It  was  no  other  than 
to  set  fire  to  the  obnoxious  impediments ;  and,  wonder- 
ful to  relate,  they  succeeded  in  their  purpose  without 
doing-  any  mischief  to  other  parts  of  the  wood.  When 
once  this  feat  had  been  accomplished,  the  picture  of  our 
Lady  in  the  wood  became  a  favourite  resort  of  all  the 
children  who  were  aware  of  its  existence ;  they  made 
daily  pilgrimages  to  it,  offeiing  their  little  nosegays  of 
wild  flowers  or  any  thing  else  they  could  get,  by  way 
of  ornament ;  and  although  some  of  the  good  villagers 
of  L'Ariccia  did  not  quite  approve  of  such  a  troop  of 
children  continually  passing  to  and  fro  in  what  they 
conceived  to  be  very  dangerous  proximity  to  their  vine- 
yards and  gardens,  yet  the  pious  practice  could  not  be 
checked,  but  only  grew  more  and  more  genoral. 

It  was  in  the  designs  of  Divine  Providence,  how- 
ever, that  this  picture  should  receive  a  still  greater 
celebrity,  and  become  an  o))iect  of  devotion  to  a  more 
extensive  circle ;  and  the  child  Santi  was  selected  to  be 
the  occasion  of  this,  as  he  had  also  been  of  its  flrst  dis- 
covery. One  day,  being  somewhat  weary  on  his  return 
from  the  wood,  he  lay  down  in  his  uncle's  shop,  leaning 
his  head  against  a  heap  of  boards  which  were  ranged 
along  the  wall.  During  his  sleep,  all  these  planks 
fell,  and  of  course  the  child  was  buried  under  them. 
The  carpenter,  hearing  the  noise,  ran  to  the  spot  to  see 
what  was  the  matter ;  other  neighbours  also  were  soon 
gathered  together  to  the  scene  of  the  accident.  A^ 
first  tliey  lamented  over  the  child  as  dead;  but  on 
heai-iiig  his  voice  calling  from  beneath  the  timber,  tliey 
lost  no  time  in  rpmoving  it,  and,  to  their  great  amaze- 
ment, tliev  foimd  the  bov  not  onlv  alivn,  but  absolutelv 


OUR  LADY  OF  QALLORO.  63 

unhurt.  Notliing-  was  now  to  be  heard  but  cries  on  all 
sides  oi"  Miracolo!  miracolo!  MadrediDio!  Maria 
santissima!"  and  other  such  exclamations;  and  the  boy 
was  called  upon  to  g-ive  an  account  of  his  extraordinary 
escape.  This  was  soon  done ;  for  all  that  he  could  say 
about  it  was,  that  as  soon  as  he  felt  the  planks  were 
moving,  he  instantly  invoked  the  Madonna  of  Valle- 
riccia,  and  that  he  had  never  ceased  to  do  so  ever  since. 
This  led  of  course  to  a  rehearsal  of  the  whole  stoiy  ab 
ovo,  of  the  way  in  which  the  picture  had  first  been 
broug-ht  to  li^-ht,  and  how  the  juvenile  pilgrims  had 
been  constantly  honouring  it  ever  since;  whereupon 
the  older  inhabitants  of  the  village  called  to  mind, 
that  in  their  younger  days  they  had  often  heard  talk 
of  this  picture;  they  could  not,  indeed,  give  any  ac- 
curate account  of  who  it  was  that  had  painted  it,  nor 
how  old  it  was;  but  it  was  generally  supposed  tliat  it 
was  the  work  of  one  of  the  JBasilian  monks  of  Grotta 
Ferrata,  who  had  once  owned  some  property  in  that 
neighbourhood,  and  whose  zeal  for  religious  painting 
was  so  notorious ;  any  how,  they  could  remember  when 
there  had  been  a  great  devotion  to  this  Madonna ;  even 
as  late  as  the  year  1594:,  tlie  Princess  Artemisia  Savelli 
(whose  family  then  occupied  the  palace  and  lands  in 
L'Ariccia  now  belonging  to  the  Chigi  family)  had  attri- 
buted her  own  unexpect<xl  recovery  from  some  danger- 
ous malady  to  a  vow  whicli  she  made  with  reference  to 
this  very  picture ;  and  slie  had  afterwards  been  very 
anxious  to  build  a  little  chapel  for  it,  only  unfortunately 
there  was  some  dispute  between  tlie  prince  and  the 
ecclesiastical  autliorities  of  the  village  as  to  the  right  of 
proj)erty  in  this  portion  of  the  wood  ;  hence  the  whole 
scheme  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  the  public  devo- 
tion received  a  check,  which  ended,  as  we  have  seen,  in 
the  total  neglect  of  tlie  picture,  and  indeed  absolute 
forgetfulness  of  its  existence.  Now,  however,  news  of 
the  miracle  being  every  where  noised  abroad,  people 
naturally  flocked  together  to  go  and  visit  the  place ; 
and  since  it  only  needs  for  a  Catholic  to  show  special 


64  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

devotion  to  oiir  Blessed  Lady  in  order  to  receive  special 
benefits  from  her  intercession,  it  follows,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  that  other  wonderful  cures  and  other  favours, 
both  temporal  and  spiritual,  were  soon  received  at  th* 
same  spot.  What  has  been  before  now  said  of  troubles 
and  soiTows,  and  what  is  indeed  a  common  pi*overb  in 
the  mouth  of  every  body,  even  in  matters  of  tliis  world, 
may  be  still  more  truly  said  of  any  outpouring"  ol 
wonderful  gifts  and  graces  at  the  hand  of  Mary :  they 
do  not  come  singly.  *'  That  one  hailstone  falls  is  a 
proof,  not  that  no  more  will  come,  but  that  others  are 
coming"  surely ;  when  we  feel  the  first,  we  say,  '  it 
hegins  to  hail,' — we  do  not  argue  that  it  is  over,  but 
that  it  is  to  come."  Just  so  is  it  with  these  miracles 
wrought  by  the  intercession  of  Mary ;  where  we  hear 
of  one,  immediately  we  look  for  another ;  it  continues, 
because  it  has  begun ;  its  beginning  marks  its  })resence; 
and  it  goes  on  lor  mouths  or  years,  or  even  for  whole 
generations,  according  to  the  good  pleasm'e  of  Almighty 
God. 

The  grazia,  then,  tlnxt  had  been  received  by  the 
boy  Bevilacqua,  was  followed  by  innumerable  others 
of  various  kinds,  bestowed  iipon  j)ersons  who  came  to 
offer  up  their  prayers,  and  to  call  upon  our  Blessed 
Lady  for  help,  in  tiie  jjresence  of  tliis  ancicmt  picture, 
until  at  lengtii  one  of  the  priests  of  L'Ariccia,  by  name 
Polidori,  a  native  of  Frascati,  determined  on  erecting 
an  altar  there,  and  enclosing  it  in  a  little  oratory.  Pie 
also  built  a  cottage  adjoining,  as  a  residence  for  some  one 
to  take  care  of  tJio  sanctuary ;  and  in  addition  to  this 
person,  Santi  also  went  and  lived  tlicre,  to  serve  the 
masses,  and  perform  all  the  otlier  offices  of  a  sacristan. 
The  chapel  was  opened  on  tlie  3d  of  May,  1023,  the 
whole  population  of  the  neighbourhood  assisting  at  a 
grand  procession;  and  it  was  soon  so  much  frequented, 
that  fourteen  or  fifteen  masses  were  said  there  nearly 
every  day.  Offerings  too  of  various  kinds  were  given 
in  such  abundance,  that  it  was  proposed  to  erect  a 
church  of  greater  pretensions,  capable  of  accommodating 


OUR  LADY  OF  QALLOHO.  66 

the  continually  increasing"  number  of  pilgrims.  The 
Cardinal  Bishop  of  Albano  and  Prince  Savelli  having 
consented  to  this  proposal,  and  upwards  of  8000/.  having 
been  contributed  for  the  purjwse,  the  foundation-stone 
was  laid  on  the  15th  of  August,  1624,  on  a  little  plat- 
form of  land  which  almost  overhangs  the  site  oi  the 
more  Immble  oratory  and  tlie  place  where  the  picture 
was  first  discovered.  It  was  several  years  before  the 
building  was  completed,  more  especially  since  it  was 
determined  to  ei-ect  a  convent  also,  adjoining  the  new 
church ;  and  the  funds  wiiich  had  been  collected  proved 
inadequate  to  this  extension  of  the  original  plan.  At 
length,  however,  the  whole  work  was  accomplished,  and 
on  the  15th  of  May,  1633,  the  church  was  solemnly  dedi- 
cated to  our  Blessed  Lady,  under  the  title  of  her  Im- 
maculate Conception,  and  at  the  same  time  religious  of  tlie 
congregation  of  Vallambrosa  took  possession  of  the  new 
monasteiy.  Early  on  the  following  day  (which  in  that 
year  was  Whit-Monday)  upwards  of  thirty  thousand  per- 
sons might  be  seen  flocking  together  from  all  the  neigh- 
bouring villages,  and  even  fi-om  Rome  itself,  anxious  to 
assist  at  the  ceremony  of  removing  the  picture  from  its 
original  position  in  the  wood  to  the  place  that  was  now 

frepared  for  it  over  the  high  altar  in  the  chiu'cli.  Canon 
'olidori's  little  oratory  had  merely  eyiclo-wd  the  rock 
on  whose  surface  the  image  of  our  Lady  was  painted, 
he  had  not  attempted  to  detacli  tlie  painting  fiom  the 
rock  itself;  and  indeed  this  would  have  been  impossi- 
ble, the  coat  of  plaster  on  which  it  stood  being  too  thin 
and  delicate  to  bear  removal.  But  now  they  had  sawn 
off  that  portion  of  the  rock  which  they  wislied  to  jire- 
serve;  and  this  fi-agment  being  placed  on  a  wooden 
frame,  highly  ornamented  with  flowers  and  liglits,  and 
otherwise  prepared  for  the  purpose,  they  i)roce('dcd  to 
carry  up  the  hiU,  and  to  deposit  it  in  its  new  resting- 
place.  This  was  done  by  bodies  of  ten  men  at  a  time, 
continually  relieving  one  another,  an|l  moving  onwards 
amid  the  solemn  prayers,  and  hymns  and  psulms  of 
thanksgiving  of  the  assembled  multitudes.    Many  mira- 


56  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

cles,  it  is  said,  were  wrought  both  during  its  progress 
and  after  it  was  placed  in  the  church,  where  it  was 
exposed  to  the  veneration  of  the  faithful  on  a  platform 
near  the  high  altar  until  the  end  of  the  month  j  and 
similar  blessings  have  been  renewed  from  time  to  time 
ever  since,  of  which  the  inhabitants  of  L' Ariccia  retain 
a  most  gi'ateful  remembi-ance. 

The  plague  in  1056  and  the  cholera  in  1837  had 
spread  far  and  wide  through  central  Italy  and  the 
States  of  the  Church  j  it  had  even  reached  as  far  as  the 
little  town  of  Albano,  scarcely  half  a  mile  distant  from 
the  village  of  which  we  are  speaking;  but  the  faithful 
inhabitants  flocked  together  to  pay  their  vows  at  the 
shrine  of  Galloro ;  old  men  and  children,  young  men  and 
maidens,  princes,  priests,  and  beggars,  all  might  tlien 
be  seen  wending  their  way  through  the  shady  wood  to 
the  little  chapel,  which  was  crowded  from  morning  till 
night;  the  petitioners  told  their  beads  as  they  went 
along,  or  they  recited  psalms,  or  they  sang  hymns  and 
litanies,  and  many  of  them  walkecl  barefooted :  in  a 
word,  they  were  pil^-rims  and  humble  clients  of  Mary; 
and  Mary  received  their  prayers,  the  plague  was  stayed, 
and  not  a  single  inhabitant  of  the  village  fell  a  victim 
on  either  occasion. 

Equally  remarkable  was  the  deliverance  of  this 
village,  not  indeed  from  all  molestation  and  alarm,  yet 
from  all  plunder  and  violence  on  the  part  of  the  re- 
publican troops  of  France  at  the  close  of  the  last  cen- 
tury. The  sanctuary  itself  had  been  sacrilegiously 
stripped  of  all  that  was  costly  and  valuable  in  the  way 
of  pi'ecious  stones  or  metals;  the  religious  had  been 
driven  from  their  home,  and  the  monastery,  with  all  its 
fiimiture,  was  sold ;  the  clmrch,  therefore,  was  neces- 
sarily closed,  and  all  j)ubhc  devotion  to  the  picture 
suspended.  Yet,  day  after  day,  many  a  peasant  miglit 
be  seen  kneeling  on  the  bare  ground  witnout  the  door, 
invoking  the  assistance  and  protection  of  their  ancient 

i)atron;  and  by  and  by  tlie  jjicture  itself  was  removed  to 
j' Ariccia,  and  even  the  altar  which  had  stood  below  it; 


OUR  LADY  OF  OALLORO.  67 

and  after  this  translation,  the  inhabitants  both  felt  and 
fmind  themselves  safe  from  the  lawless  depredations  of 
their  enemies. 

A  combination  of  circumstances,  such  as  the  world 
calls  cliaiice,  but  in  which  relig-ion  never  fails  to  recog"- 
nise  the  finger  of  God,  served  to  protect  them  from  all 
tbose  further  injuries  by  which  their  less  favoured 
neighbours  were  so  grievously  oppressed.  Their  gi-ate- 
ful  devotion  for  this  mercy  rendered  them  extremely 
unwilling  to  restore  the  picture  to  Galloro,  when  the 
Vallambrosian  monks  returned  to  take  possession  of  the 
monastery;  indeed,  the  religious  were  obliged  to  call 
for  the  interference  of  the  Pope,  before  they  could 
recover  it.  Ten  yeai-s  afterwards  saw  Napoleon  master 
of  Rome,  and  all  the  religious  communities  dispersed. 
Galloro,  however,  was  not  this  time  altogether  aban- 
doned. Although  the  Vallambrosians  were  obliged  to 
withdraw,  they  left  two  American  priests — ex-Jesuits, 
who  had  been  staying  with  them  for  some  time  since 
the  dissolution  of  tiieir  own  society — to  serve  the  church 
during  their  absence;  and  when,  on  the  restoration  of 
Pope  Pius  VII.  to  his  throne,  and  of  the  vai-ious  religious 
oraei's  to  theii"  homes,  the  Vallambrosians,  in  conse- 
quence of  an  insufficiency  of  numbers,  were  no  longer 
in  a  condition  to  resume  their  residence  here,  the  Holy 
Father,  wlio  had  just  then  re-established  the  Society  of 
Jesus,  appointed  these  fathei-s  in  their  stead,  and  they 
have  retained  it  ever  since. 

Only  three  or  four  Jesuits  are  in  constant  residence 
here;  its  healthy  situation,  however,  and  the  quiet 
retirement  of  the  place,  cause  it  to  be  constant!}'  visited 
by  Withers  from  other  parts  who  liave  been  ovenvorked, 
and  stand  in  need  of  rest;  hence  the  functions  in  the 
church  are  frequent  and  good,  and  the  devotion  to  the 
sanctuary  is  probably  as  gi-eat  at  tlie  present  day  as  it 
has  ever  been,  fxccpting  perhaps  on  certain  special 
occasions  immediately  after  some  notorious  miracle. 
At  one  time,  for  a  period  of  two  months  or  more,  we 
enjoyed  the  opportimity  of  visiting  it  oui-selves  almost 


68  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

daily,  and  can  testify  to  the  number  and  devotion 
of  those  who  worship  there.  We  have  already  said 
that  the  church  stands  on  the  side  of  a  hill,  without 
any  habitations  nearer  to  it  Uian  the  villag^es  of 
L'Ariccia  on  the  one  side,  and  of  Genzano  on  the 
otlier  (the  former  being'  a  little  more  than  half  a  mile 
oiF  perhnps,  the  latter  at  more  than  double  that 
distance);  yet  the  number  of  communions  that  were 
made  there  in  a  sing-le  year  (1846)  were  upwards  of 
7060,  being"  an  average  of  nearly  twenty  pilgrims 
a-day.*  There  can  be  no  doubt  but  that  the  Romans 
and  foreigners  who  make  their  summer  retreat  in  the 
neighbourhood  contribute  something  to  this  mmiber; 
we  observe,  however,  that  in  tlie  very  depth  of  winter 
the  average  number  of  communions  is  not  loss  than  500 
a-month :  thus,  in  December  512,  in  January  404,  in 
February  633,  &c.  These  details  may  enable  the  reader 
in  some  degree  to  realise  to  himself  the  habit  whicli 
prevails  among  the  people,  of  having  recourse  to  this 
shrine  on  all  occasions  of  special  devotion  during  the 
time  of  any  public  or  private  trial ;  in  a  word,  when 
they  wish  to  be  more  earnest  in  their  prayers,  and  to 
draw  nearer,  as  it  were,  to  the  throne  of  grace  and  the 
fount  of  mercy. 

*  The  number  of  Easter  coniiimnicauts  in  L'Ariccia  is  about 
900;  that  in  Genzano  we  do  not  accurately  know;  it  is  pro- 
bably throe  times  as  much. 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  JUSTIMANI.  69 


THE  CHILDREN  OF  THE  JUSTINIANI. 

In  g-lancin^  over  the  pages  of  any  history,  it  is  curious 
to  remark  now  capriciously  the  associations  of  historical 
interest  seem  to  cliang^e  localities.  At  one  time  some 
particular  country  is  chosen  out,  and  into  its  limits  are 
crowded  all  the  life  and  greatness  of  the  period ;  and  if 
we  look  at  it  at  another  time,  perhaps  in  the  very  next 
age,  we  find  it  forgotten ;  the  light  that  rested  over  it 
for  a  moment  has  passed  on,  and  is  illuminating  some 
other  spot,  leaving  it  again,  in  its  turn,  to  fall  into  its 
former  insignificance.  All  the  classic  regions  of  anti- 
quity may  he  said  to  be  illustrations  of  this  remark, 
and  none  more  so  than  the  Isles  of  Greece ;  their  inte- 
rest in  the  map  of  Europe  at  the  present  day  is  limited 
to  their  names.  Yet  not  to  speak  only  of  times  of  dis- 
tant antiquity,  scarcely  more  than  three  hundred  years 
ago  these  islands  played  a  distingniished  part  in  the 
long  struggle  maintained  by  Christian  Europe  against 
the  power  of  the  infidels.  In  the  present  weakened 
and  contemptible  state  of  the  Turkish  empire,  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  us  to  realise  a  time,  and  tliat  not  so  very  long 
ago,  when  the  very  name  of  the  Turks  was  a  word  of 
terror  to  Christendom.  Yet  during  the  whole  of  the 
sixteenth  century  (until,  under  the  ])atronage  of  Mary 
the  Help  of  Christians,  their  naval  power  was  utterly 
destroyed  at  Lepanto)  we  find  Europe  lying  almost  at 
their  mercy.  Among-  the  many  tales  which  may  be 
found  of  touching  interest  in  connection  witli  their 
cruel  incursions  on  the  shores  of  the  ^Mediterranean  and 
Levant,  the  following  is  told  concerning  the  illustrious 
family  of  the  Justiniani. 

The  oriirinal  stock  of  this  noble  house  was  settled 
at  Venice ;  but  a  branch  had  long  been  fixed  in  the  isle 
o{  Scio,  of  which  island  they  were  indeed  the  lords, 


60  CATHOLIC  LEOENOS. 

though  in  the  beginning-  of  the  sixteenth  century  they 
had  become  tributary  to  tlie  Turks.  A  noble  devoted- 
ness  in  resistance  to  the  infidel,  and  in  the  protection  of 
Christendom,  was  hereditary  amons:  them.  In  every 
account  of  the  armament  sent  by  Venice  ag-ainst  the 
forces  of  the  Turks,  ^e  may  be  almost  sure  to  find  a 
prince  of  the  Justiniani  family  at  their  head,  or  dying- 

fallantly  in  the  strug-g-le.  There  was  also  another 
ereditary  feeling-  among'  them,  and  this  was  their 
attachment  to  the  Order  of  St.  Domihic.  They  have 
given  no  less  than  nine  bishops  to  the  Order,  one  ol 
whom  (Vincent  Justiniani)  was  Master  General  during 
the  pontificate  of  St.  Pius  V. 

At  the  time  of  the  circumstances  ive  are  about  to 
relate,  Timothy  Justiniani,  a  member  of  the  same  illus- 
trious order,  was  bishop  of  his  native  island  of  Scio,  and 
his  cousin  Anton}-,  also  a  Dominican,  archbishop  of  the 
neig-hbouring  island  of  Naxia.  It  was  the  year  1566 ; 
the  Council  of  Trent  was  just  over,  and  the  Bishop  of 
Scio,  who  had  assisted  at  its  deliberations,  had  returned 
to  his  diocese.  There  had  been  a  short  lull  in  the  fierce 
desultory  warfare  which  had  been  carried  on  for  many 
years  with  the  Turks.  The  inhabitants  paid  their  tri- 
bute to  the  infidels  regularly  and  exactly,  and  a  treaty 
had  been  solemnly  granted  them,  by  which  peace  and 
quiet  seemed  to  be  assured  to  tliem  in  return  for  this 
pledge  of  their  submission.  And  indeed  there  seemed 
the  less  chance  of  this  treaty  being  broken,  for  the 
Turkisli  general,  Mustapha,  had  just  been  repulsed 
from  Malta  with  shame  and  loss  by  the  gallant  Grand 
Master  La  Valetta,  and  had  been  forced  to  carry  back 
the  shattered  remains  of  his  forces,  without  liaving 
gained  the  shghtest  advantage  over  the  Christians. 

The  Scian  islanders,  therefore,  laid  aside  the  fear  of 
a  descent  of  the  infidels,  which  was  the  perpetual  bug- 
bear, if  we  may  so  say,  of  those  days,  and  prepared  to 
celebrate  the  festival  of  Easter  with  unusual  joy  and 
solemnity.  Every  thing  this  year  contributed  to  make 
this  peculiarly  a  holiday  of  rejoicing.     I'he  return  of 


THE  CHILDREN  OP  THE  JUSTINIANl.  61 

their  bishop  after  his  long*  labours  at  the  Council,  and 
the  termination  of  the  Council  itself,  settling  and  con- 
firming- as  it  had  done  the  faith  of  the  Church,  and 
fixinf*-  the  adamant  barriers  of  its  definitions  ag^ainst 
the  aistractions  and  heresies  of  the  time,  gtive  a  special 
gladness  to  the  feelings  with  which  all  nocked  to  the 
churches  on  the  14th  of  AprU  (on  which  day  the  Pas- 
chal festival  fell  that  year).  It  was  the  moment  cho- 
sen by  the  Turks  to  come  upon  them  with  a  powerful 
fleet,  which  landing'  its  forces  before  the  Scians  were 
aware  of  its  approach,  took  them  utterly  by  surprise; 
so  that  the  entire  island  fell  into  their  hands  almost 
w^ithout  resistance.  The  Bishop  was  in  the  catliedral 
eng"ag"ed  in  the  celebration  ot  the  Holy  Mysteries, 
when  a  larg-e  body  of  the  infidels  entered  the  church. 
In  their  hatred  to  the  Christian  faith,  they  made  every 
kind  of  profanation  and  sacrileg^e  one  of  the  express 
objects  of  their  depredatory  attacks.  Justiniani,  tnere- 
fore,  well  knew  what  would  follow ;  and  turning"  from 
the  altar  to  meet  his  enemies,  he  used  every  entreaty, 
and  offered  the  riches  of  the  entire  island,  if  only  he 
mig-ht  be  suffered  to  preserve  the  holy  sanctuai-ies  un- 
profaned.  Their  answer  was  a  rush  towards  the  altar, 
neaded  by  their  chief.  Pasha  Piali.  This  man,  rudely 
pushing"  aside  the  Bishop,  laid  his  hands  on  the  cibo- 
rium,  and  cried  contemptuously,  "  Is  this  the  God  of 
the  Christians  ?"  "  It  is  Himself,"  replied  the  Bishop ; 
"  I  will  never  deny  Him ;"  and  perhaps  lie  hoped  this 
answer  mig'lit  strike  some  awe  into  the  minds  of  the 
Turks.  But  Piali  with  a  sneer  cast  the  vessel  to  the 
gTound,  and  would  have  trampled  on  its  contents,  if  the 
Bishop  had  not  thrown  himself  in  the  way.  "  Strike 
me  to  death,  if  you  will,"  he  exclaimed ;  *•'  the  Sacred 
Mysteries  shall  never  bo  trampled  under  your  feet;" 
and  so  saying-,  resisting  with  extraordinary  coolness  and 
coinage  the  attemjjts  of  all  those  wlio  stood  round  to 
prevent  him,  he  on  his  knees  careiully  and  reverently 
gathered  together  every  one  of  the  Sacred  Hosts,  even 
to  the  smallest  particle. 


62  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

Whether,  indeed,  his  courag-e  and  devotion  inspired 
them  with  some  respect,  vro,  cannot  say ;  but  the  infidels 
spared  liis  Hfe.  Every  church,  liowever,  throug-hout  the 
island  was  destroyed,  stive  that  of  the  Dominican  con- 
vent, which  was  turned  into  a  mosque.  The  next  care 
of  the  Turks  was,  if  possible,  to  destroy  the  family 
whose  enmity  they  had  so  mucli  cause  to  dread. 
Every  member  of  the  Justiniani  family  was  carefully 
sought  for,  and  taken  captive.  Some  were  carried  to 
the  Crimea,  others  to  Constantinople,  and  diiferent 
parts  of  the  empire.  Their  property  was  seized,  and 
the  few  who  escaped  captivity  took  refug-e  in  Italy  in  a 
state  of  absolute  destitution.  A  few  of  them  sent  into 
banishment  recovered  their  liberty,  being-  ransomed 
through  the  interest  of  the  Pope  and  the  French  king ; 
but  they  never  recovered  their  former  power  and  dis- 
tinction. Not  one  of  these,  however,  but  bore  himself 
in  this  fall  and  ruin  of  his  house  with  the  spirit  of  a 
hero ;  and  tlie  Christian  gallantry  which  they  lield  as  a 
birthright  was  nowhere  more  nobly  displayed  than  in 
some  young  childi-en,  whose  fate  was  peculiarly  melan- 
choly. With  a  refinement  of  cinielty,  the  Turks  had 
chosen  the  youngest  children  of  the  family  to  the  num- 
ber of  about  twenty,  and  separating  them  from  their 
parents,  carried  them  to  Constantinople,  where  they 
were  placed  among  the  pag-es  of  the  court  of  Solyman 
II.  They  doubtless  hoped  that  at  their  tender  ag:e 
(for  tKey  were  not  above  ten  years  old)  it  woidd  be 
easy  to  make  them  forget  the  teaching  of  their  fatliers, 
and  brinw'  them  up  in  the  Mussulman  religion  ;  and  they 
were  well  aware  no  agony  and  no  humiliation  could 
be  gTeater  to  the  princes  of  the  hated  Justiniani,  than 
to  know  that  their  sons  were  living  renegades  to  their 
faith.  If  tliis  was  their  hope,  they  had  little  calculated 
the  temper  of  those  with  whom  they  had  to  do.  Nei- 
ther the  luxury  of  an  eastern  court  nor  the  threats  of 
cruel  punisliment  could  tempt  one  of  these  children  to 
disgmce  his  faith  as  a  Christian,  or  prove  unworthy  of 
the  name  of  a  Jxistiniani.     Like  Daniel  and  his  com- 


THE  CHILDKKN  OF  THE  JU8TINIANI.  63 

panions  in  the  court  of  Nebuchodonozor,  they  stood 
equally  firm  ag-ainst  threats  aiTd  allurements.  The 
Turks  for  a  while  contented  themselves  with  endea- 
vouring' to  tempt  them  from  their  allegiance  with  the 
flattering"  seductions  of  the  senses ;  but  finding  all  their 
efforts  in  vain,  they  savagely  condenmpd  them  to  be 
whipped  to  death.  This  torture  was  inflicted  with  im- 
usual  barbarity,  for  tbe  infidels  were  piqued  to  see 
themselves  defied  and  baffled  by  a  little  company  of 
children.  Not  one  gave  way ;  in  the  mid<t  of  un- 
speakable torments  they  all  showed  the  same  con- 
stancy, and  encouraged  one  another  to  suffer  yet  more 
for  Jesus  Christ.  As  one  of  tlie?e  little  martyrs  was 
dying  under  the  lash,  a  Turk  who  stood  by  approached, 
and  Dade  him  only  lift  his  finger  as  a  sign  that  he  re- 
nounced Christianity,  and  he  should  be  released.  The 
noble  child,  unable  to  speak,  confessed  his  faith  by 
signs;  for  raising  the  hand  to  which  the  Turk  pointed 
as  he  spoke,  he  clenched  the  fingers  together  so 
tightly,  that  no  force  was  able  to  open  them,  and  they 
remained  firmly  locked  together  even  after  his  death. 
The  Pasha  himself  came  to  the  spot,  and  addressing 
another,  who  had  as  yet  survived  the  punishment,  said 
he  should  be  thrown  from  the  top  of  a  high  tower  if 
he  still  refused  to  embrace  the  faith  of  Mahomet.  "  I 
am  not  worthy  to  be  a  martyr  for  Jesus  Christ,  like 
my  brothers,"  re[)lied  the  boy  ;  "  but  all  I  desire  in  this 
world  is  to  die  for  Him,"     On  this  he  was  shut  up  in 

?rison,  with  the  idea  of  wearying  out  his  constancy, 
le  knelt  down  on  the  floor,  and  addressing  himself  to 
God  in  words  of  childish  simplicity  and  confidence, 
prayed  for  constancy  and  courage  to  die  in  the  faith. 
After  spending  three  whole  days  in  this  manner,  he 
died  of  his  wounds  and  exhaustion. 

St.  Pius  V.  is  said  to  have  been  touched  with  an  ex- 
traordinary emotion  of  grief  on  hearing  of  these  circum- 
stances. As  a  Dominican,  the  Justiniani  were  like  his 
relisrious  brethren ;  and  he  gave  the  only  testimonv  that 
lay  in  his  power  to  do  honour  to  these  heroic  childrei:*. 


64  CATHOLIC  LEOEND9. 

In  the  Consistory  held  at  St.  Mark's  in  the  September 
of  the  same  year,  he  narrated  the  story  of  their  mar- 
tyrdom. Nor  was  their  melancholy  late  without  its 
influence  in  the  events  which  followed.  The  treacher- 
ous attack  on  Scio,  with  the  reveng-eful  ruin  of  this 
illustrious  house,  and,  above  all,  the  cruelty  practised 
on  their  children,  were  felt  to  call  for  a  severe  chastise- 
ment; and  when,  five  years  aftenvards,  the  Christian 
fleet  lay  opposite  to  the  overwhelming'  armament  of 
the  infidels  in  the  Gulf  of  Lepanto,  many  a  heart  was 
nerved  to  heroism  by  a  thought  of  the  devoted  courage 
of  the  martvred  children  of  the  Justiniani. 


XI. 

THE  DELIVERANCE  OF  ANTWERP. 

In  the  year  1622,  the  Prince  of  Orange,  Maurice  of 
Nassau,  determined  on  besieging  Antwerp,  reckoning  on 
the  secret  intelligence  which  lie  maintained  with  the 
heretics  inside  the  town,  and  relying  also  on  the  number 
of  his  soldiers  and  engines  of  war.  With  tliis  design 
he  embarked,  together  with  twelve  thousand  men,  eig-ht 
thousand  of  whom  were  musketeers ;  and  jjassing  by 
Dordrecht,  took  from  thence  twenty-four  cannon  and 
other  pieces  of  artillery.  Thirty-six  long  ships  had 
been  built  on  piu'pose  for  this  expedition ;  and  in  these 
he  placed  two  Inmdred  and  seventy  hoi'ses  and  several 
instruments  of  war,  such  as  had  never  before  been 
known  in  the  Dutch  armies.  As  the  fleet  left  Dor- 
drecht, the  wind  was  in  their  favour  :  Mam-ice  had 
just  held  a  review  of  his  army,  and  at  the  sight  of  this 
formidable  force,  with  the  certainty  moreover  of  meet- 
ing with  none  but  a  very  feeble  resistance,  he  cried  out 
that  he  was  sure  of  success ;  that  he  had  nothing  to 


THE  DELIVERANCB  OF  ANTWERP.  66 

fear  from  the  power  of  man,  and  that  God  alone  could 
hinder  him. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  city  thus  threatened,  there  dwelt 
a  certain  holy  nun  nam^u  Auuts  ui"  St.  Bartholomew,  a 
Teresian  Carmelite  from  Spain,  who  had  been  trained 
under  St.  Teresa  herself  in  the  convent  of  St.  Joseph 
of  Avila,  and  had  made  such  progress  in  the  way  of 
perfection,  that  her  holy  superior  said  of  her,  "  I  liave 
the  name  of  a  saint,  but  Anne  does  the  works  of  one." 
It  was  in  her  arms  that  the  saint  died ;  and  soon  after- 
wards she  was  called  into  France,  and  chosen  supenor 
of  the  convent  of  Pontoise,  and  after\vards  of  that  of 
Paris ;  and  in  1611,  at  the  request  of  the  Archduke 
Albert,  she  foimded  the  convent  of  Carmelites  in  the 
city  of  Antwerp ;  and  it  was  by  her  assistance  that  the 
firet  convent  of  English  Teresian  nxms  was  founded  a 
few  years  later  (on  the  1st  May,  1019)  in  the  very 
same  city.  On  the  vei-y  night  when  Maurice  and  his 
army  embarked,  as  we  have  seen,  at  Dordrecht,  this 
holy  nun  suddenly  awoke,  and  called  up  her  religious 
for  prayer  with  such  extreme  earnestness,  that  all 
thou";lit  she  had  received  intimation  of  some  treason, 
which  she  was  imploring  the  assistance  of  God  to 
defeat.  She  declared,  however,  that  it  was  not  so ; 
that  she  only  knew  that  God  was  calling  her  inwardly 
to  pray,  and  to  cause  them  to  pray  also.  At  two 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  her  fervour  redoubled ;  with 
her  hands  raised  to  heaven,  she  criod  again  and  again 
for  mercy,  and  that  with  such  effort,  that  her  frame 
seemed  to  be  sinking  with  iutigiie.  In  the  morning, 
she  told  one  of  the  nuns  that  she  wa"^  asweary  as  thou<>"h 
her  whole  body  had  been  bmised  :  "  Thei'e  must  oe 
some  gi'eat  treason  on  foot,"  she  stiid;  "for  I  feel  as  if 
I  had  been  fighting  all  niglit.  I  liave  been  foi-ced  to 
pray  wlien  I  wished  to  rest,  being  (;uite  exliausted ;  and 
when  my  arms,  whicli  I  was  holding  stretclied  out  to- 
wards God,  dropped  for  very  lassitude,  I  heard  a  voice 
within  me,  Pray  on,  pray  on.     If  I  had  been  fighting 

F 


66  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

against  a  whole  army,  I  could  not  have  felt  more  utterly 
worn  out." 

Two  hours  after  this,  the  effect  of  her  prayer  was 
known.  Tidings  then  reached  Antwerp,  that  at  the 
very  moment  ^^'llen  Anne  had  begun  to  pray,  the  wind 
had  changed ;  and  that  by  the  time  tlie  prince  had 
reached  a  town  called  Gresboo,  a  dreadful  tempest  had 
arisen  :  it  had  hailed  with  such  violence  as  to  cut  to 

Eieces  or  othersvise  spoil  the  cordage  of  his  vessels ;  and 
e  himself,  with  a  few  gentlemen,  had  thrown  them- 
selves into  a  boat,  and  with  difficulty  escaped  to  Wil- 
lemstad. 

On  another  occasion,  a  few  years  later,  when  a 
night-attack  was  unexpectedly  made  on  the  citadel  of 
Antwerp,  Anne  was  ag-ain  awakened  by  a  cry,  which 
she  foimd  on  inquiry  had  proceeded  from  no  one  in  the 
house,  and  which  she  therefore  regarded  as  a  summons 
to  prayer,  feeling  certain  that  the  city  must  be  in  some 
danger.  Her  apprehensions  were  fully  verified ;  for  it 
soon  became  known  that  the  enemy  had  attempted  the 
citadel,  but  had  suddenly  withdrawn,  leaving  many  of 
their  gams  and  other  instiiiments  of  war  behind  them. 

So  high  an  opinion  of  the  efficacy  of  Anne's  prayers 
was  held  among  her  contemporaries,  that  the  Infanta 
Isabel  of  Spain  declared  to  Inigo  Borgia,  the  governor 
of  the  citadel  of  Antwerp,  that  slie  had  no  fears  for  the 
safety  of  that  fortress,  nor  of  the  town  of  Antwerp,  so 
long  as  it  sliould  contain  within  its  walls  the  Mother 
Anne  of  St.  Bartholomew,  "who,"  she  said,  ''inspired 
her  with  more  confidence  than  a  numerous  army." 


OUR  LADY  OF  GOOD  COUlfSEL  AT  OEXAZZANO.      67 


XII. 

OUR  LADY  OF  GOOD  COUNSEL  AT 
GENAZZANO. 

In  the  little  town  of  Genazzano,  a  town  pleasantly 
situated  on  the  side  of  a  rang'e  of  hills  skirting-  one  of 
the  high  roads  fi-om  itome  to  Naples,  there  lived,  not 
quite  four  hundred  years  ago,  a  very  devout  old  woman, 
n:imed  Petruccia  de  Jeneo.  She  was  a  native  of  tha 
place,  and  a  member  of  the  Thu-d  Order  of  St.  Augns- 
tine,  living-  in  the  world.  She  hod  had  a  little  property 
of  her  own,  but  at  the  time  of  our  narrative  it  was  all 
spent,  and  spent  too  in  a  somewhat  sirisiilar  way.  She 
had  a  great  devotion  to  the  principal  churcli  of  the 
place,  which  was  dedicated  to  our  Lady  under  the  title 
of  Mother  of  Good  Counsel.  It  was  but  a  small  and 
poor  building-,  and  Petruccia  determined  to  rebuild  it 
on  a  scale  of  great  magnificence.  Her  means  were 
quite  xmequal  to  the  task.  Novei-theless,  sucli  as  tliey 
were,  slie  devoted  them  entirely  to  the  work.  She  went 
and  sold  all  that  slie  had,  and  tlie  imdortaking-  was 
begTin.  Her  friends  and  neighbours  laughed  her  to 
scorn,  as  one  who  had  bogim  to  build  without  "  having- 
first  set  down  and  reckoned  the  cluirges  that  were 
necessary,  whether  she  had  wlierewitlial  to  finish  it." 
Her  relations — not  without  some  suspicion  of  a  selfish 
regard  to  their  own  interests  as  tlie  motive  of  their  in- 
terference— rebuked  lier  shai-j)ly  for  her  improvidence, 
in  thus  voluntarily  depriving  hei-self  of  those  means  of 
support  with  which  God  had  ble  sod  her,  in  the  time  of 
her  great»-st  necessity.  Slie  wa**  old  and  infirm,  the}' 
said  ;  antl  who  would  undertake  the  burdon  of  her  suj)- 
port,  since  her  impoverishment  had  been  the  result  of  a 
foolisli  indulgence  of  her  own  fancy  i*  Her  answer  to 
these  objections  was  always  the  same  :  "  The  work  will 
oe  finished,  and  that  right  soon,  bpoause  it  is  not  my 


68  CATHOLIC  LEQENDS. 

work,  but  God's  ;  our  Blessed  Lady  and  St.  Augustine 
will  do  it  before  I  die ;"  and  she  continually  repeated, 
with  an  air  of  exulting-  confidence,  what  seemed  like  the 
raving-s  of  madness  to  those  who  lieard  her  :  "Oh,  what 
a  gran  signora,  what  a  noble  lady,  will  soon  come  and 
taixe  possession  of  this  place !" 

Meanwhile  the  work  proceeded,  and  the  walls  had 
already  risen  to  some  height  above  the  OTound,  close  to 
the  old  church  which  they  were  intended  to  enclose. 
But  by  and  by  the  buildei-s  ceased ;  Petruccia's  funds 
were  ^1  spent,  and  there  were  no  means  of  procuring- 
any  more.  For  the  g-ood  woman  had  pubHcly  declared 
that  she  had  begnn  the  amdertaking,  and  was  encour- 
aged to  persevere  with  it,  mainly  in  reliance  upon  some 
secret  inspiration,  vision,  or  revelation  (it  does  not 
clearly  appear  which),  that  she  believed  hereelf  to  have 
received  from  God ;  whereas  the  Church,  in  order  to 
guard  ao-ainst  abuses  which  had  sometimes  arisen  from 
giving  heed  to  pretended  supeniatiu*al  messages  of 
this  kind,  had  issued  a  "law  forbidding  such  things  to 
be  attended  to,  unless  they  were  corroborated  by  some 
other  external  and  inde{)endent  testimony ;  the  mere 
assertion  of  a  dream,  a  vision,  or  a  revelation,  was  on 
no  account  to  be  obeyed.*  Peti-uccia's  work,  therefore, 
was  not  only  suspended  for  want  of  means,  it  was  also 
canonically  prohibited;  that  is  to  say,  her  own  sub- 
stance had  been  entirely  exhausted,  and  an  appeal  to 
the  assistance  of  others  could  not  be  sanctioned  by  the 
ecclesiastical  authorities.  Matters  were  in  this  state  in 
the  spring  of  1407,  when  tlie  following  miraculous 
event  at  once  justified  and  completed  the  whole  imder- 
taking. 

From  time  immemonal,  the  feast  of  St.  Mark  the 
Evangelist  had  been  celebrated  in  Genazzano  as  a  very 
special  holiday.  Ti-adition  records  that  this  was  the 
consequence  of  some  decree  of  the  holy  Pontiff  of  that 

*  Qure  per  somnia  ct  inanes  n'velationcs  quoruinlibet  hoini- 
num  ubicumque  constituuiitur  altaria,  oninino  roprobfiUur. — 
Cone.  Afric.  a.d.  424  :  ])e  Consecr.  Dist.  1.  Can.  26. 


OUR  LADT  OF  GOOD  COUNSEL  AT  QENAZZANO.      69 

name,  who  lived  in  the  middle  of  the  fourth  century 
and  who  hoped  thereby  to  abolish  certain  impure  and 
superstitious  practices  by  which  the  heathen  had  been 
wont  to  pollute  that  day.  Any  how  the  fact  is  certain, 
that  the  25th  of  April  was  always  the  principal  day  of 
the  ^eat  fair  or  market  of  the  year  in  that  town. 
Accordingly  it  was  being  celebrated  in  the  usual 
manner  in  the  year  already  mentioned ;  the  town 
was  full  of  strangers;  crowds  of  persons  had  passed 
and  repassed  the  old  church,  and  the  imperfect  walls 
of  the  new.  Some  had  jeered  and  mocked,  say- 
ing, "  This  woman  had  begun  to  build,  and  was  not 
able  to  finish ;"  but  others  were  soiTy  to  see  so  good  a 
work  unfinished.  Evening  was  now  fast  approaching, 
the  gayest,  brightest  hour  of  the  fair,  wlien,  business 
being  ended,  the  pleasure  of  the  day  be^-an :  all  were 
devoting  themselves  to  amusement,  each  in  his  own 
way,  when  suddenly  some  who  stood  on  the  pubhc 
piazza,  or  square,  in  front  of  the  churcli,  saw  some- 
thing like  a  thin  cloud  floating  in  the  air,  and  tlicn  set- 
tling on  one  of  the  walls  of  the  unfinished  building. 
Here  tlie  cloud  seemed  to  divide  and  disappear,  and 
there  remained  upon  tlie  wall  a  ])icture  of  our  Blessed 
Lady  and  the  Holy  Child  Jesus,  which  had  not  been 
there  before, — a  picture  which  was  new  to  all  the  by- 
standers, and  which  they  could  not  in  any  way  accoimt 
for.  At  the  same  moment  the  bells  of  the  church  and 
of  all  the  other  churches  in  the  town  began  to  sound, 
yet  no  human  hand  could  be  seen  to  touch  them. 
People  ran  fiom  their  houses  to  a.sk  the  cause  of  this 
general  commotion ;  and  indistinct  rumours  spread  ra- 
pidly among  them,  that  something  wondcri'ul  had  hap- 
pened in  the  Piazza  della  Madoiuia.  Those  who  were 
nearest  to  the  spot  arrived  just  in  time  to  see  the  aged 
Petruccia  come  out,  like  the  rest,  from  the  church  to 
inquire  what  had  hai)])en('d.  As  soon  as  she  saw  the 
picture  she  threw  lun'self  on  her  knees,  and  saluted  it 
M'ith  outstretched  arms;  then  rising  and  turning  round 
to  the  people,  she  told  them,  with  a  voice  half-choked 


70  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

by  the  violence  of  her  emotions  of  joy  and  gratitude, 
tliat  this  was  the  gran  signoi'n  wliom  slie  had  so  long' 
expected ;  that  she  was  now  come  to  take  possession  of 
the  church  that  oug-ht  to  have  been  ready  for  her,  and 
■that  the  bells  were  being"  rung'  in  this  mii*aculous  way 
only  to  do  her  honour.  At  this  intelligence  the  peopfe 
fell  upon  their  knees,  and  began  to  pour  forth  their 

Erayers  before  this   marvellous  painting,  which  tliey 
new  not  how  otherwise  to  designate  than  as  the  3Ia- 
donna  del  Paradiso,  or  our  Lady  from  Heaven. 

Meanwliile,  the  inhabitants  of  the  adjacent  villages, 
alarmed  by  the  unusual  sound  of  the  bells,  accompa- 
nied (as  is  still  the  custom  in  many  parts  of  Italy  on 
all  festive  occasions)  by  the  discharge  of  numerous 
jfirearms,  imagined  that  some  disturbance  must  have 
brokea  out  in  the  city — no  unliliely  circumstance  in 
those  daj's  of  violence — and  began  to  feel  great  anxiety 
for  those  of  their  relations  and  friends  who  were  absent 
at  the  fair.  Some,  indeed,  had  already  returned,  but 
these  were  as  much  at  a  loss  as  the  rest ;  for  when 
they  came  away  they  liad  seen  no  symptoms  of  a  riot, 
neither  had  they  heard  of  any  extraordinary  cause  of 
rejoicing.  Others,  again,  had  left  the  city,  and  were  in 
the  act  of  returning'  liomewards,  when  their  steps  were 
arrested  by  these  unaccountable  sounds;  and  of  these 
some,  whose  discretion  was  stronger  than  their  curio- 
sity, only  Imri'ied  home  the  foster,  whilst  others  turned 
back  to  investigate  tiie  cause.  These,  however,  tarried 
so  long  to  gaze  at  tlie  wondrous  sight,  to  hear  its  his- 
tory, and  to  see  the  marvellous  etFects  that  followed, 
that  the  public  anxiety  of  the  neighbourhood  still  re- 
mained imrelieved.  At  length,  at  a  very  late  horn-  of 
the  night,  some  few  stragglers  returned,  and  told  so 
strange  a  tale,  that  long  before  daybreak  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  nniltitudes  of  the  country  people  might 
be  seen  taking  advantnge  of  the  day  of  rest  (it  was  the 
fourth  Sunday  after  Easter),  and  hurrying  towards  the 
town  to  hear  and  see  for  themselves.  And  not  only 
the  hale  and  the  active,  but  even  the  aged  and  infirm, 


OUR  LADY  OF  GOOD  COUNSEL  AT  OENAZZANO.   71 

the  blind,  the  lame,  the  maimed,  and  many  others, 
came  or  were  broug-ht  to  this  new  pool  of  Bethsaida  ; 
for  it  was  pai-t  of  the  intelligence  which  reached  them, 
that  persons  were  being'  miraculously  healed  of  their 
infirmities  in  the  presence  of  this  strange  picture.  And 
the  faith  of  many  of  these  simple-hearted  pilg-j-ims  re- 
ceived the  reward  they  looked  for:  the  bhnd  received 
their  sight;  the  ears  of  the  deaf  were  opened,  and  the 
tongue  of  the  dumb  was  loosed;  the  lame  walked; 
nay,  in  one  or  two  instances,  the  very  dead  were  re- 
stored to  life  again ;  and  during  the  next  two  or  three 
montlis  we  have  authentic  evidence  of  nearly  200 
miracles  that  were  wrought  on  this  favoured  spot. 

But  whence  had  this  picture  really  come  ?  and 
how  had  it  been  brought  ?  The  people  of  Genazzano 
tiiought  that  it  had  come  straight  from  heaven,  and 
had  been  brought  by  angels,  as  tradition  says  tliat  the 
picture  of  Sta.  Maria  in  Portico  was  once  t)rought  to 
St.  Galla  in  Rome.  So  they  called  it,  as  we  have 
seen,  the  Madonna  del  Paradiso ;  and  were  not  a  little 
annoyed  when,  a  few  days  after  its  first  appearance, 
two  strangers  arrived  from  Rome,  and  said  that  they 
knew  the  picture  well,  and  could  tell  all  about  its  his- 
tory. One  of  these  strangers  was  a  Sclavonian,  the 
other  an  Albanian ;  and  the  story  which  they  told  was 
this  : 

They  had  been  resident  together  in  Scutari,  a  city 
of  Albania,  now  called  Iscodar,  situated  on  the  eastern 
coast  of  the  Adriatic,  and  distant  about  five-and-twenty 
miles  from  the  sea.  On  a  little  hill  outside  this  cit}'', 
not  half  a  mile  beyond  the  gate?,  tliere  was  a  church 
in  which  this  ^ladonna,  jxiiuted  ujjon  tlie  wall,  was 
much  venerated  as  the  3Lulonna  del  JJuon  Officio. 
It  was  a  pictiu'e  to  which  there  hnd  always  been  a 
very  great  devotion,  tln^v  said ;  but  latterly,  in  the  dis- 
tiu-beJ  miserable  condition  of  the  country,  the  inhabi- 
tants liad  been  more  tluiii  usually  frequent  in  their 
visits  to  it,  e  itreating  the  Madonna's  interference  to 
deft^nd  them  from  their  dantj-prdns  enemies,  the  Turks. 


73  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

who,  they  had  reason  to  apprehend,  were  meditating-  a 
fi'esh  invasion,  and  who,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  did,  not 
many  years  aftei-wards,  lay  waste  the  whole  country, 
and  destroy  many  cities  with  fire  and  sword.  IS'uni- 
bers  of  the  citizens  had  already  fled  from  the  im})end- 
ing  calamity,  and  taken  refug-e  (as  contemporary  histo- 
rians tell  us)  some  in  Venice,  others  in  different  cities 
of  Romag'na.  Among-st  the  rest,  our  two  strangers  at 
length  determined  to  expatriate  themselves  like  their 
neig'hbours ;  hut  before  doing-  so,  they  went  out  to  bid 
a  last  farewell  to  their  favoui-ite  shrine,  and  to  pray  the 
Mother  of  God,  that,  as  she  with  her  Divine  Son  had 
once  been  forced  to  flee  from  the  face  of  one  of  the 
king-s  of  the  earth,  Avho  was  plotting-  mischief  ag-ainst 
them,  so  she  would  mercifnlly  vouchsafe  to  accompany, 
to  giiide,  and  protect  these  her  humble  clients  in  their 
no  less  comj)ulsory  flight.  They  said  that,  whilst  they 
were  yet  praying-,  the  picture  disappeared  from  their 
sight,  and  in  its  stead  a  white  cloud  seemed  to  detach 
itself  from  the  wall,  to  float  through  the  air,  and  to 
pass  out  throug-h  the  doors  of  the  church.  Attracted 
by  an  impulse  which  they  could  not  account  for,  yet 
were  unable  to  resist,  they  rose  from  their  knees  and 
followed ;  ])resently,  they  found  themselves  caught  up 
in  some  mysterious  manner  along-  with  it,  and  carried 
forward  in  its  company.  The  manner  of  their  transit 
they  could  not  explain ;  they  only  knew  that,  as  the 
ang-el  of  tlie  Lord  once  set  Habacuc  in  Babylon  over 
the  lions'  den  where  Daniel  was  impi-isoned,  "  in  tlie 
force  of  his  Spirit,"  and  then  presently  set  him  again 
in  his  own  place  in  Judea;*  and  as,  wlien  Philij)  and 
the  eunuch  were  come  up  out  of  the  water,  "  the  Sjjirit 
of  the  Lord  took  away  Philip,  and  the  eunuch  saw  Jiim 
no  more :  And  he  went  on  his  way  rejoicing,  but, 
Pliilip  Avas  found  at  Azotus;"f  so  they  too  had  bcun 
miraculously  transported  through  the  air  by  some  invi- 
sible hand  from  one  j)lace  to  another ;  iirst  to  the  sea- 

•    *  Dan.  xiv.  35-38.  f  -'^^ts  viii.  39 


OUR  LADY  OF  GOOD  COUNSEL  AT  QENAZZANO.      73 

coast  J  then  across  the  Adriatic,  whose  waves  had  borne 
them  up,  as  tlie  sea  of  Galilee  had  borne  St.  Peter, 
when  Jesus  bade  him  come  to  Him  upon  the  waters ; 
then,  that,  as  evening  drew  on,  that  which  had  seemed 
a  pillar  of  a  cloud  by  day  became  as  it  were  a  pillar  of 
fire ;  and  that,  finally,  when  they  had  been  broug"ht  to 
the  j^tes  of  Rome,  it  entirely  disappeared. 

Entered  into  the  Eternal  City,  the  travellei*s  had 
soug"ht  dihgently  for  traces  of  their  lost  guide ;  they 
went  from  one  church  to  anotlier,  inquiring;  for  the  pic- 
ture which  tliey  had  watclied  so  long-,  and  then  so  sud- 
denly lost  sig-ht  of ;  but  all  their  inquiries  were  in  vain. 
At  length,  at  the  end  of  two  or  three  days,  they  heard 
of  a  picture  having*  appeared  in  a  strang'e  wa\  at 
Genazzano,  and  that  its  appearance  was  followeu  by 
many  miracles.  Immediately  they  set  out  to  visit  it ; 
and  as  soon  as  they  had  arrived,  they  reco^ised  and 
proclaimed  its  identity. 

The  people  of  Genazzano  lent  no  willing;  ear  to  this 
strang;e  history  ;  it  detracted  somewhat  li'om  the  hea- 
venly origin  which  they  would  fain  have  assigned  to 
their  newly-g"ott«n  treasure ;  and  it  g-ave  them  some 
imeasiness  too  as  to  the  ultimate  security  of  their  pos- 
session of  it ;  for,  should  this  story  be  authenticated, 
the  picture  mig-ht  one  day  be  reclaimed  and  carried 
away.  In  the  course  of  a  few  days,  however,  as  the 
story  g-ot  noised  abroad,  other  Albanians,  who  were 
scattered  up  and  down  in  different  parts  of  Italy,  came 
to  see  it;  and  these  too  confirmed  its  identity.  And 
many  years  afterwards,  when  people  wlio  took  an  inte- 
rest in  the  matter,  had  the  opportunity  of  g'oinp-  to 
Scutari  and  examining*  for  tlieniselvo?,  they  testified 
iipon  oatli  tliat  tliey  liad  found  a  blank  pj)ace  in  the 
plaster  of  the  walls  of  the  church  described ;  that  its 
size  and  form  corresponded  exactly  to  that  of  tlie  )tif- 
ture ;  and  that  the  colouring-  and  style  of  art  exhibited 
in  the  picture  were  ])reci.<ely  the  same  with  (hat  which 
characterised  all  the  other  parts  of  the  church.  Upr  ir 
must  be  remembered,  that  this  was  no  painting-  exe- 


74  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

cuted  upon  board  or  canvas,  and  thus  capable  of  easy 
removal,  and  leaving-  no  trace  behind  it;  it  was  a  mere 
fi'esco  upon  a  very  thin  coating-  of  plaster,  whicli  no 
human  skill  could  have  detached  from  the  wall  in  a 
single  piece,  still  less  have  transported  from  one  })lace 
to  another  without  injury. 

Of  course  it  was  impossible  that  so  marvellous  a 
story,  circulated  in  the  immediate  neig'hbourhood  of 
the  Holy  See — for  Genazzano  is  not  more  than  thirty 
miles  from  Rome — should  fail  to  attract  the  attention 
of  that  ever-watchful,  jealous  ti-ibunal.  The  translation 
of  the  picture  is  said  to  have  taken  place  late  on  the 
evening-  of  the  25th  of  April ;  and  before  the  middle  of 
July,  Pope  Paul  II.  sent  two  bishops  to  examine,  upon 
the  very  spot,  into  all  the  circumstances  of  the  case. 
Cardinal  Cortin,  the  Bishop  of  Palestrina,  in  whose  dio- 
cese Genazzano  is  situated,  was  absent  at  this  time  -at 
Avignon ;  the  Pope  therefore  appointed  a  friend  of  his 
in  his  stead,  Monsignor  Gaucer,  Bishop  of  Gap  in  Dau- 
phiny ;  and  with  him  he  associated  Monsigiior  Nicole 
de  Cruci,  Bishop  of  Lesina,  one  of  the  islands  in  the 
Adriatic,  near  the  coast  of  Dalmatia,  whose  familiarity 
as  well  with  the  lang-uag-e  of  the  strang-ers  as  with  the 
localities  from  which  they  professed  to  have  come, 
could  not  fail  to  be  of  the  utmost  service  in  the  investi- 
g-ation.  The  result  of  tlieir  inquiries  was  most  satis- 
factory, and  ])laced  the  truth  of  the  narrative  we  have 
given  beyond  all  'reasonable  doubt ;  Petruccia's  unfi- 
nished building-  was  immediately  resumed  ;  and  a  hand- 
some church,  tog-ether  with  a  large  monastery  attached 
to  it,  were  completed  in  less  than  three  years ;  the  two 
strang-ers  settled  in  the  town,  determined  never  more 
to  abandon  their  heavenly  guide,  and  the  descendants 
of  one  of  them  (the  Albanian  De  Giorg-is)  still  remain 
there ;  and  the  Sanctuarv  of  our  Ladv  of  Good  Counsel 
wa.s  henceforth  established  for  ever. 


THE  THREE  KNIOHTS  OF  ST.  JOHX.  76 

XIII. 

THE  THREE  KNIGHTS  OF  ST.  JOHN. 

FuLK  of  Anjou,  the  fourth  Christian  king  of  Jerusalem, 
keld  the  weighty  sceptre  of  Godfrey  of  Bouillon  with  a 
trembling  and  uncertain  hand ;  but  lie  took  care  to  for- 
tify Beersheba,  the  ancient  frontier  of  his  kingdom,  and 
to  commit  the  guardianship  of  it  to  the  bravest  of  the 
soldiers  of  the  cross, — those  devoted  men  whom  an  in- 
spiration of  charity  had  created  Hospitallers  of  the  Holy 
Citv,  and  who  had  become  in  1104  armed  monks,  ready 
to  hght  in  defence  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  the  pious 
pilgi-ims  who  frequented  it.  Consistently  with  their 
twofold  character  of  religious  and  soldiers,  they  bore 
the  cross  on  the  hilt  of  their  swords,  and  concealed  the 
hair  shirt  under  the  CTiirass,  and  were  called  the  Knights 
of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem. 

At  four  leagues  from  Beereheba  was  the  first  fortress 
of  the  Mussulman,  Ascalon,  that  ancient  city  of  the 
Philistines;  which  at  that  time  was  occupied  by  a  nu- 
merous army,  between  which  and  the  Christian  host 
were  daily  skirmishes,  surprises,  and  ambuscades. 

In  the  year  1131,  among  tlie  crusaders  who  were 
guarding  Beci-sheba,  there  were  three  knights  of  great 
renown,  brothers,  of  the  house  of  Eppe,  who,  at  the 
summons  of  the  Holy  See,  had  left  their  smiling-  domains 
to  fly  to  the  assistance  of  the  Christians  in  the  East, 
and  had  won  themselves,  by  mighty  deeds  of  valour, 
the  distinction  which  warriors  most  prize,  that,  namely, 
of  being  always  placed  in  the  hottest  of  tlie  battle,  and 
chosen  out  for  every  service  which  involves  peculiar 
danger. 

One  day,  the  advanced  sentinels  of  the  Christian 
g'arrison  suddenly  gave  the  alarm  in  Beersheba;  for 
numerous  ai-niod  battalions  had  been  seen  to  issue  fi-om 
Ascalon,  and  were  marching  onward  with  a  rajiid  step. 


76  CATHOLIC  LEOENI>g. 

The  three  kni^-hts  were  commanded  to  g;o  forward  with 
their  standards  to  meet  the  enemy,  and  to  force  them 
to  give  battle,  and  thus  to  prevent  tlieir  besieg-ing-  the 
town.  The  encounter  was  sharp;  for  the  Saracens 
attacked  fiercely,  and  the  Franks  (as  they  were  called 
in  Asia)  showed  then,  as  ever,  tluit  they  had  not  yet 
learned  to  turn  or  to  draw  back  before  the  scymitar. 
After  they  had  received,  as  immovable  as  rocks,  the 
onslaug'ht  of  the  enemy,  and  driven  back  the  assailing- 
midtitudes,  tliey  rushed  on  their  lines  thus  thrown  into 
disorder,  and  made  g-roat  carnag'e;  and  then  pressed 
after  them  as  they  fled,  to  complete  the  victory.  In 
this  pursuit  tliey  had  to  cross  a  ravine,  in  which  was 
placed  an  amhuscade  of  the  enemy;  and  th«y  found 
themselves,  unawares,  completely  surrounded,  a  fresh 
band  of  Saracens  having*  emerg'ed  from  their  hiding- 
place,  and  caug-ht  them  in  the  rear.  They  made  a 
vigorous  defence,  but  their  numbers  were  too  unequal 
for  success  to  be  possible,  and  the  whole  little  band  of 
Christians  were  cut  to  ])ieces,  except  the  three  knights, 
who,  wounded,  but  fighting  to  the  last,  and  worn  out 
with  their  efforts,  were  taken  prisoners,  disarmed,  and 
bound  with  cords  and  dragged  into  Ascalon.  The 
soldiers,  enraged  at  having  bought  their  captives  so 
dearly,  ill-treated  them  in  every  possible  way,  and  they 
would  never  have  reached  Ascalon  alive  but  that  one  of 
the  Saracen  chiefs  remembered  the  ransom  which  might 
be  exacted  for  knights  of  such  eminent  valoiu'. 

But  there  was  no  tliought  of  ransom;  not  one  of  the 
little  Christian  band  had  returned  to  Beersheba  to  bear 
the  news  of  the  battle,  and  all  there  believed  that  the 
three  good  knights  of  Eppe  were  dead.  As  new  skir- 
mishings were  taking  j>lace  every  day,  it  was  thought 
that  tlie  prisoners  were  not  in  safe. custody  at  Ascalon ; 
and  an  officer  who  was  going  to  Cairo  in  search  of 
reinforcements,  thouglit  to  pay  his  court  to  the  sultan 
by  offering  them  to  liim:  and,  in  fact,  the  sultan  was 
well  pleaded  to  receive  the  three  heroes ;  for  he  admired 
their  lofty  stature,  beauty  of  countenance,  and  micom- 


THE  THREE  KNIGHTS  OP  ST.  JOHN.  11 

mon  strength,  and  more  especially  all  that  was  told 
him  of  their  feats  of  valour.  Accordingly,  he  received 
them  with  f^-eat  courtesy,  and  announced  to  them  im- 
mediately by  his  dragoman,  that  it  would  only  depend 
on  tliemselves  to  receive  ample  compensation  for  all 
they  had  lost. 

The  knights  undei-stood  well  what  tliis  meant;  but 
this  first  day  they  only  replied  by  a  silent  obeisance. 
They  were  allowed  a  week  of  repose,  during  which  time 
they  were  guarded,  but  treated  with  gi-eat  respect;  and 
then  the  siUtan  declared  to  them  that  he  was  ready  to 
admit  them  among  his  chief  favourites,  and  to  give  them 
the  command  of  his  armies,  if  only  they  would  renoimce 
the  Christian  faith  and  become  Mahometans.  The 
three  knights  recoiled  in  horror  from  the  proposal, 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross.  They  were  neitiier  skil- 
ful disputants  nor  theologians,  but  they  were  full  of 
faith  and  honour:  they  answered  that,  as  Christians  antl 
knights,  their  hearts  as  well  as  tlieir  arms  were  conse- 
crated to  Jesus  Christ ;  and  that  whether  victorious  or 
vanquished,  whether  in  triumph  or  in  martyrdom,  they 
hoped  never  to  be  found  wanting  to  God,  and  never  to 
swerve  from  the  path  of  honom-. 

Tliis  reply  astonislied  the  sultan ;  and  he  commanded 
the  prisoners  to  be  led  back  to  the  place  of  their  con- 
finement, resolving  to  leave  no  means  untried  of  over- 
coming their  resolution;  and  accordingly,  for  sevei-al 
days,  he  tried  offers,  })romises,  and  entreaties ;  but  all 
in  vain :  the  three  brothers  were  immovable. 

After  this  he  confined  them  more  closely,  and  sent 
the  most  learned  doctors  in  Cairo  to  confer  with  them, 
who  exhausted  their  eloquence  iind  tlieir  arguments  in 
extolling  a  religion  of  sensualism  and  deatli ;  but  they 
made  no  impression  on  tlie  steadfast  faith  of  the  kniglits; 
and,  more  furious  than  the  sultan  liimself,  because  their 
j)ri(le  was  humbled,  thev'  persuaded  him  tliat  severity 
alone  could  break  those  iron  liearts.  Accordingly,  the 
three  brothers  were  condemned  to  closer  imprisonment, 
woi-se  food,  and  more  galling  fetters;  and  from  day  to 


78  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

day  theii'  captivity  became  more  and  more  painful. 
Some  handfuls  of  bai'ley  were  their  only  food ;  they  were 
chained  down  to  their  dung-eon  floor  and  shamef.illy 
treated:  and  this  slow  martyrdom  lasted  more  than 
two  years;  during  which  time  theu-  str  ngtli  could 
scarcely  have  endured,  hut  for  those  immense  consola- 
tions, such  as  the  world  cannot  conceive,  which  Almighty 
God  bestows  on  the  hearts  of  those  who  are  His  own, 
and  which  He  lavished  on  these  three  knights;  so  that 
when  their  enemies  believed  them  to  be  cast  down, 
crushed  and  overAvhelmed,  they  were  really,  from  the 
depths  of  their  dark  prison,  singing  hymns  of  thanks- 
giving; and  whenever  they  \vere  brought  before  the 
sultan,  they  appeared  with  a  serene  countenance,  and  a 
free  and  joyous  heart. 

The  Saracen  was  altogether  perplexed  :  the  wonder- 
ful pereeverance  of  these  children  of  Christ  appeared  to 
him  an  inconceivable  pitch  of  heroism :  and  the  more 
they  resisted  him,  the  more  eager  he  became  to  gain 
over  to  himself  hearts  wliose  fidelity  had  been  thus  mani- 
fested to  him.  He  did  not  know  tliut  against  all  his 
efforts,  against  Satan  and  all  his  snares,  tliese  holy 
knights  were  aided  by  prayer,  that  all-powerftd  weapon 
from  the  armoury  oi  faith.  They  prayed  incessantly  ; 
they  asked  from  God  that  which  He  never  refuses,  the 
grace  to  remain  His  children ;  and  they  asked  it  in  that 
name  before  which  Hell  trembles,  imploring  the  inter- 
cession of  our  common  Mother,  who  never  abandons 
those  who  have  recourse  to  her.  Thus,  protected  by  our 
Lady,  sic-ned  with  the  Cross  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ, 
captives  for  His  cause,  and  living  imder  the  eye  of  God, 
they  suffered  in  patience,  until  at  last  the  sultan  re- 
solved on  making  a  final  effort  against  them. 

He  had  one  daughter,  named  Ismeria ;  she  was 
young,  eminently  beautiful,  and  celebrated  far  and  near 
as  a  miracle  of  genius  and  wisdom.  To  her  he  had 
often  spoken  of  these  Christian  knights,  and  complained 
of  their  resistance.  "  My  father,"  said  the  princess  one 
day  in  answer,  ''  y'..«r  doctors  must    {)e  unskilful,  or 


THE  THREE  KNIGHTS  OF  ST.  JOHN.  79 

their  interpretei's  must  misi-epiesent  their  ai-gumentsj 
I  think  if  you  would  suffer  me  to  trv,  that  I  might  be 
able  to  pei-suade  them ;"  for  in  truth  the  fair  Ismeria 
was  curious  to  see  men  of  such  a  character.  "  Well, 
my  daughter,"  said  the  sultan  to  her  one  evening, 
"to-morrow  you  sliall  go  to  the  prison  of  these  Chris- 
tian knights,  and  speak  with  them.  You  shall  try 
whether  you  can  succeed  where  our  doctors  have  failed ; 
and  if,  either  by  learning  or  good  fortune,  either  by  your 
wisdom  or  J>.ii'"  charms,  you  prevail  on  them  to  follow 
the  standard  of  the  prophet,  it  will  indeed  be  an  illus- 
trious conquest.  Neither  do  I  shrink  from  the  chance 
of  one  of  them  becoming  enamoured  of  you ;  for  I  should 
be  too  happy  to  have  such  a  son-in-law." 

The  next  day,  the  beautiful  princess,  with  a  splendid 
retinue,  visited  the  prison  of  the  knights.  She  Knew  a 
little  of  the  language  of  the  Franks,  which  she  had 
learnt  from  a  European  slave.  Too  skilful  to  betray  at 
once  the  mission  on  which  her  father  had  sent  her,  she 
mentioned  as  tlie  motive  of  her  unexpected  appearance 
her  ardent  desire  to  behold  warriors  of  such  renown, 
and,  if  possible,  to  save  tliem ;  foi*,  since  no  ransom  had 
been  offered  for  them,  and  they  jjei-sisted  in  adhering  to 
their  own  faith,  the  people  were  clamouring  for  their 
death. 

They  replied,  that  tlie  messengers  whom  they  had 
charged  to  bear  to  France  the  tidings  of  tlieir  cajttivity 
had  probably  never  readied  their  destination,  and  there- 
fore tlieir  family  doubtless  believed  tliem  to  be  dead ; 
that  they  had  therefore  no  means  of  paying  their  nm- 
som,  unless  one  of  them  might  be  permitted  to  letmn 
to  Europe.  This,  of  course,  was  by  no  means  the 
sultan's  intention.  They  added,  tlmt  as  to  denying 
the  faitli,  they  trusted  that  tlie  mercy  of  (jJod  would 
avert  from  them  any  such  dreadful  calamity.  They  also 
thanked  the  princess  for  the  pity  she  expressed  towards 
them,  and  told  her  what  jileasure  they  felt  ui  heaiing 
her  speak  tlieir  own  language. 

Ismeria,  touched  with  compassion  for  these  noble 


80  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

knights,  then  begun  in  g-ood  faith  to  endeavour  to  bring 
them  to  the  religion  oflier  father,  and  explained  to  them 
the  doctrines  of  the  Mahometan  religion.  She  spoke 
with  such  entire  sincerity,  that  the  knights  could  not 
help  feeling  interested  in  the  poor  young  girl,  brought  up 
in  these  fatal  errors ;  and  after  having  ascertained  fi'om 
her  that  none  of  her  attendants  understood  the  language 
of  the  Franks,  they  asked  her  permission  to  explain  to 
her,  in  their  turn,  their  faith  and  their  hope. 

The  princess  not  only  consented,  but,  without  in  the 
least  foreseeing  what  the  result  would  be,  showed  a 
lively  curiosity  to  become  really  acquainted  with  Chris- 
tianity, and  to  hear  its  doctrines  set  forth  by  those  who 
really  believed  in  it.  The  eldest  of  the  knights  then 
explained  to  her  all  that  the  Church  had  taught  him  of 
the  creation  of  man,  of  his  fall,  and  its  fatal  consequences; 
of  the  promised  Redeemer ;  of  the  Incarnation,  Passion, 
and  Death  of  our  Saviour;  of  the  reconciliation  of  man 
with  God,  and  the  restoration  of  woman  by  the  blessed 
intervention  of  Mary  in  tiie  great  mystery  of  redemp- 
tion. He  explained  the  Holy  Trinity,  tlu'ee  persons 
in  one  God ;  he  spoke  of  everlasting  blessedness  in 
heaven.  The  clearness  and  precision  of  his  words  as- 
tonished his  brothers ;  for  he,  like  them,  was  neither  a 
cleric  nor  a  preacher.  They,  in  tlieir  simplicity,  had 
forgotten  our  Lord's  saying :  "  When  ye  are  called  to 
bear  witness  of  Me,  take  no  thought  beforeliand  wliat 
ye  shall  speak :  I  will  give  you  words  and  wisdom  which 
your  adversaries  shall  not  be  able  to  gainsay." 

The  princess  was  struck ;  and,  in  the  agitation  of 
her  minfl,  promised  to  return  the  next  day.  She  de- 
liglited  her  fatlier  by  telling  him  that  she  intended  to 
continue  her  conferences,  for  that  she  expected  tliey 
w^ould  produce  some  result.  That  same  night  slic  had 
a  vision,  in  which  she  thought  slie  saw  the  Blessed 
Vii-gin  leaning  over  her ;  and  tliis  drew  her  lieart  alto- 
gether to  the  Christian  faitli.  Tlie  conversation  on  tlie 
second  day  was  entirely  on  Mary,  the  INIotlier  of  grace, 
of  whom  the  knights  poured  forth  such  sweet  praises, 


THE  THREE  KNIQHTS  OF  ST.  JOHN.  81 

and  related  such  consoling  wonders,  that  the  princess, 
longing"  to  honour  the  Mother  of  God  as  she  is  honoured 
by  Christians,  besought  them  to  make  her  an  image  of 
our  Lady.  The  three  brethren  were  no  more  artists 
than  they  were  doctoi-s  of  the  faith ;  but  fearing  to  refiise 
to  attempt  any  thing  which  might  be  the  will  of  God, 
they  promised,  to  attempt  the  pious  work,  if  they  could 
be  furnished  with  wood  and  tools  for  carving. 

These  were  soon  procured ;  and  one  of  the  brethren, 
having  said  the  Hail  Mary,  set  to  work  to  rough-hew 
the  wood,  and  the  others  helped  him  as  best  they  could, 
all  praj'ing  to  God  to  guide  their  hands,  and  imploring 
Mary  to  bless  their  efforts.  For  several  days  they 
laboured,  di-eaming  of  nothing,  whether  awake  or  asleep, 
but  their  pious  enterprise.  One  morning,  when  they 
awoke,  what  was  their  surprise  to  see  before  them  the 
statue,  which  they  had  barely  shaped  out,  completely 
finished,  and  radiant  with  the  most  exquisite  beauty ! 

The  good  knights  impatiently  awaited  the  arrival 
of  the  princess.  At  the  sight  of  this  wonderful  image, 
she  fell  on  her  knees  in  ecstasy,  and  was  the  more 
amazed  because  the  statue  before  her  precisely  resem- 
bled the  heavenly  vision  which  had  hung  over  her  in 
sleep.  She  bowed  down  and  tenderly  kissed  its  feet; 
and  the  captives  gave  it  tlie  name  of  our  Lady  of  Glad- 
ness, in  consequence  of  the  joy  and  happiness  it  had 
brought  into  their  prison. 

During  the  niglit  which  followed  tliis  happy  day, 
the  princess  had  a  second  vision.  The  holy  V'irgin 
again  appeared  to  her  in  the  same  form  as  before,  and 
commanded  her  to  set  tli(!  captives  free,  to  fly  to  France 
witlj  them;  offering  to  be  her  support,  and  jn-omising 
her  that,  after  a  pure  and  holy  life,  she  sliould  receive 
iji  heaven  a  crown  of  imperisluible  glory  and  everlasting 
blessedness.  She  hesitated  no  longer;  at  dawn  of  day 
slie  flew  to  the  prison  of  tlie  Christian  kniglits,  and  de- 
clared that  she  would  break  tlieir  chains,  if  only  they 
would  take  her  with  them  to  a  land  where  siie  might 
l)rofess  the  faith;  confessing  to  them,  moreover,  tliat  in 
a 


82  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

takings  this  step  she  was  executing*  a  command  given 
her  by  our  Lady.  The  Lords  of  Eppe,  ovenvhelmed 
with  wondei*  and  joy,  threw  themselves  on  their  knees, 
giving-  tlianks  to  God  and  the  Holy  Virg-in,  and  swear- 
ing to  the  princess  that  they  would  conduct  her  safely 
to  France  at  the  peril  of  their  lives,  and  die  i-ather  than 
desert  her. 

Their  departure  was  resolve  I  upon  for  the  night  fol- 
lowing. Ismei-ica,  as  soon  as  she  had  dismissed  her 
ladies,  loaded  herself  with  all  her  most  precious  jewels, 
and  reached  unobserved  the  prison  of  the  knights,  where 
she  found  the  guards  sleeping.  She  opened  the  dooi-s, 
unfastened  the  chains,  and  imder  the  escoi-t  of  the  three 
brethren,  who  carried  the  holy  image,  our  Lady  of  Glad- 
ness, their  most  precious  treasm-e  and  their  surest  hope 
she  reached  the  gates  of  the  town,  which  also,  by  miracle: 
or  by  a  happy  chance,  were  open.  When  the  litt.e 
company  had  reached  tlie  banks  of  the  Nile,  tliey  could 
no  longer  doubt  that  they  were  under  the  special  guid- 
ance of  JIary ;  for  in  the  pale  starliglit,  they  discerned 
a  bark  coming  towards  them  impelled  by  a  single  rower, 
who  offered  to  convey  them  across;  and  when  they 
were  safely  arrived  on  the  opposite  bank,  looking  back 
on  the  stream,  they  could  see  no  longer  eitlier  boat  or 
rower,  and  could  only  thank  Divine  Providence. 

The  travellei*s,  thus  fenced  about  with  miraculous 
protection,  marched  on  till  break  of  day;  then  futignie, 
and  the  dread  either  of  pui'suit  or  of  some  other  misad- 
venture, induced  them  to  enter  a  wood  of  palm  ti-ces,  to 
take  a  little  rest.  Ismerica,  overcome  bv  weaiinoss,  in 
spite  of  her  anxieties,  and  of  the  recollection  of  her 
father,  whom  she  dearly  loved,  soon  sank  to  sleep  l)y 
the  side  of  the  holy  image.  The  knights  intended  to 
watch  over  her  in  turns,  but  in  vain;  they  all  three 
yielded  to  fatigue,  and  fell  asleep. 

On  their  awakening,  says  the  old  legend,  tliey  wei-e 
amazed  to  see  that  tlie  branches  wliich  drooped  over 
their  heads  were  not  of  palms,  but  of  tlie  trees  of 
northem   Em-ope;    while   in  the  distnnce   they  l>e]ie]<l 


THE  THREE  KNIGHTS  OF  ST.  JOHN.  83 

towers  and  a  steeple,  such  as  were  never  seen  in  Eg-ypt, 
and  the  breeze  wJiich  fanned  tlieir  temples  was  sucli  as 
they  had  never  felt  in  Africa.  Tliey  looked  around  them 
bewildered,  and  thought  they  were  still  dreaming-,  for 
often  liad  the  captives  dreamed  of  their  native  land ; 
but  the  pnncess  completed  their  astonishment  by  the 
surprise  which  she  expressed  at  this  new  and  fi-esh  na- 
ture, which  she  had  never  seen  before, — at  the  sky 
shadowed  with  clouds  such  as  that  of  Eg-ypt  knew  not. 
The  imag-e  which  they  had  brouo-ht  with  them  was  still 
at  their  side ;  but  at  their  feet  Ijubbled  up  a  fountain 
which  they  had  not  remarked  before  tliey  slept,  and 
which  they  thoug-ht  they  recognised  as  one  well  known 
to  them. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  astonishment,  a  shepherd 
passed  by  them  g-uiding-  his  flock,  dressed  in  the  costume 
of  Europe.  The  knig'ht  called  him,  and  he  came  up  to 
them ;  they  found  that  he  could  speak  their  lang-uage, 
and  his  features  even  seemed  to  them  familiar:  they 
asked  him  in  what  country  they  were 

"  In  the  coimtr}'  of  Laon,"  replied  the  shepherd, 
"in  the  marches  of  ChampagTie.  Tliis  wood,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  and  this  fountain  are  part  of  tlie  domain  of  the 
three  Lords  of  l''p])o,  who  went  to  the  Holy  Land  under 
the  banner  of  om-  Lord." 

Here  the  shepherd  made  the  sig-n  of  the  cross,  and 
continued  liis  stor}'. 

"  We  have  been  informed,  that  three  years  past  these 
noble  knig-hts  were  taken  up  to  God.  But,"  he  added, 
*''you,  g-entlemen,  by  the  cross  you  bear  upon  yoiu-  vest- 
ments, must  be  yourselves  returning-  from  the  Crusades. 
Perliaps  you  can  bring-  us  certain  tiding's  of  our  poor 
lords;  and  thoug-h  this  lady  who  is  with  you  is  a  foreig-ner, 
I  see  by  certain  sig-ns  that  you  are  g'ood  and  worthy 
Christians." 

The  shepherd  hnd  just  ])erccived  the  g-raceful  image 
of  our  Lady  of  Gladness,  before  which  he  immediately 
fell  on  his  knees;  and  tlie  knig-hts,  who  had  let  him  talk 
on,  because,  from  emotion,  tliey  had  lost  the  power  of 


84  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

speech,  followed  his  example;  and,  shedding  the  sweetest 
tears  of  gratitude  and  joy,  poured  forth  their  thanks- 
givings to  our  Lady,  who  had  thus  become  to  them 
more  and  more  truly  at  every  step  our  Lady  of  Glad- 
ness. Their  untrimmed  beards,  and  the  long  period  of 
suifering  they  had  past,  had  so  changed  them,  tliat  they 
were  not  easily  recognised  at  the  fii-st  moment;  but  as 
soon  as  they  had  declared  their  names,  the  shepherd 
rushed  forth  to  proclaim  through  the  whole  country 
round  the  joy  of  so  unexpected  a  return.  All  the  vil- 
lagers flocked  round  them;  and  the  knights  and  the 
lady  were  conducted  to  the  Castle  of  Mai-chais,  whicli 
was  one  of  theii*  demesnes.  Their  mother,  who  was  still 
living,  almost  expired  with  joy  at  again  beholding  her 
sons,  whose  deaths  she  had  mounied  so  long,  ^he 
loaded  with  caresses  the  Egyptian  princess,  who  had 
been  the  instrument  of  their  liberation ;  and  undertook 
hei-self  to  prepare  her  for  Holy  Baptism.  On  tlie  spot 
in  the  wood  where  they  had  found  themselves  on  that 
marvellous  day,  they  resolved  to  build  a  church,  and  to 
place  therein  the  miraculous  image.  Ismerica  conse- 
crated to  this  work  of  thanksgiving  the  larger  portion 
of  the  jewels  she  had  brought  with  her.  Thus  was 
founded  the  Church  of  our  Lady  of  Gladness ;  and  to 
satisfy  the  eageniess  of  the  crowds  who  thronged  toge- 
ther to  honour  the  miraculous  image,  it  was  ])laced  for 
the  time  on  a  little  throne,  in  a  rustic  chapel  hastily 
raised  by  the  side  of  the  fountain,  until  the  church  should 
be  consecrated.  The  Bishoji  of  Laon,  Barthelenii  de 
Vir,  a  venerable  prelate,  baptised  the  Egyptian  princess, 
the  elder  of  the  three  knights  standing  as  her  godi'atlier; 
and  her  piety  continued  so  fervent,  that  a  shoi't  time 
after  she  consecrated  herself  entirely  to  God  among 
the  Holy  Virgins.  The  church  of  our  Lady  of  Glad- 
ness (Lu'-'iw)  was  in  due  season  coniploti'd  ;  the  town 
of  Liesse  grew  up  around  if,  and  it  became  a  cele- 
brated sanctuary  and  place  of  pilgiiiuage,  where  innu- 
merable acts  of  "beneficence  have  signalised  Ironi  ag(!  to 
age  the  compassionate  goodness  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 


THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CECILY.  85 

XIV. 

THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CECILY. 

One  day,  towards  the  close  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
when  the  iconoclasts  or  imag'e-breakei's  were  all-power- 
ful in  the  Netherlands,  there  met  four  brothers  in  the 
town  of  Aix-la-Chapelle.  Three  of  them  were  students 
from  AVittemberg",  and  the  fourth  held  the  situation  of 
preacher  in  Antwerp ;  and  they  had  come  to  Aix-la- 
Chapelle  to  take  possession  of  a  property  that  had  been 
left  them  by  an  uncle  lately  deceased.  Not  havings 
any  acquaintances  in  the  place,  they  took  up  their 
quai'ters  at  an  hotel.  Here  the}--  lived  very  pleasantly 
for  a  few  days,  the  preacher  entertaining-  them  with  an 
accoimt  of  all  the  wonderful  changes  that  had  recently 
been  made  in  the  country  from  which  he  came  in 
matters  of  relig'ion. 

Now  it  happened  that  the  Feast  of  Corpus  Christi  was 
at  hand ;  and  the  four  brothei-s,  inflamed  by  fanaticisiu, 
youth,  and  the  evil  example  of  so  many  others  in  other 
parts  of  the  country,  determined  to  give  Aix-la-Chapelle 
also  a  samj)l(;  of  their  dexterity  in  the  art  of  image- 
breaking.  The  preacher,  who  had  more  than  once 
headed  such  enterprises,  collected  on  the  evening  before 
the  feast  a  number  of  young  men,  sons  of  merchants 
and  students  devoted  to  the  new  doctrine,  who  spent 
the  night  carousing  in  the  tavern  j  and  at  break  of 
day,  having  provided  themselves  with  crowbars  and 
other  instruments  of  destruction,  they  i)roceeded  to  the 
Convent  of  St.  Cecily,  which  was  outside  the  gates  of 
the  town,  and  which  they  had  chosen  as  tiie  scene  of 
tlu'ir  reckless  operations.  A  signal  was  agreed  uj)uii, 
at  which  the  assault  should  be  begiin  uj)on  the  stained- 
glass  windows,  rich  with  stories  from  the  sacred  Scrip- 
tures ;  and  assured  of  finding  many  adherents  amongst 
the  crowd,  they  determined  to  proceed  with  the  work 


86  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

of  destruction  till  there  was  not  left  one  stone  upon 
another. 

Tlie  abbess,  who  even  before  dawn  had  received  in- 
formation of  the  dang-er  which  threatened  the  convent, 
sent  to  the  imperial  officer  then  commanding'  in  the 
town,  requesting  a  guard  for  its  protection.  But  he 
was  one  of  those  who  secretly  favoured  the  new  school ; 
and  he  refused  the  guard,  on  the  plea  that  they  were 
ghosts  which  had  frio-litened  her,  and  that  there  was 
not  even  a  shadow  ot  danger  for  her  convent.  Mean- 
while the  hour  appointed  for  the  commencement  of  the 
ceremonies  was  approaching,  and  the  nuns  prej)ared  for 
Mass  with  much  prayer,  and  under  a  painful  apprehen- 
sion of  all  that  might  probably  happen.  They  could 
count  upon  no  defender  save  an  old  steward  of  the 
convent,  now  past  seventy,  who  planted  himself  at  the 
entrance  of  the  church,  with  a  few  young  boys  whom 
he  had  armed  for  the  occasion. 

To  add  to  the  troubles  and  anxieties  of  the  nuns  on 
this  memorable  morning,  it  so  happened  tliat  tlie  leader 
and  mistress  of  the  choir.  Sister  Antonia,  had  been 
attacked  by  a  violent  nervous  fever  a  few  days  befoi'e ; 
so  tliat,  besides  their  alarm  at  the  four  saci-iiegious 
brotliers,  who  might  already  be  seen  wrapped  up  in 
their  large  mantles,  waiting  behind  the  piHars  of  the 
church,  the  convent  was  in  the  greatest  embarrassment 
as  to  the  due  performance  of  the  music  appropriate  to 
so  high  a  festival.  The  abbess  on  the  previous  evening 
had  ordered  a  mass,  the  production  of  an  old  Itah'an 
master  wliose  name  is  luiknown,  which  was  remarkable 
for  the  peculiar  tone  of  sanctity  and  grandeur  wliich 
breathed  through  its  composition,  and  nnw  anxiously 
sent  to  make  new  inquiries  for  Sister  Antonia  ;  but  the 
nun,  who  went  to  see  her,  broug-lit  back  word  that  their 
dear  sister  was  in  a  state  of  absolute  inseusilnlity,  so 
that  it  was  useless  to  expect  that  she  could  by  any 
nossibility  conduct  the  performance. 
•  Meanwhile  some  alarming  scenes  had  already  taken 
place  in  the  churcli,  now  filled  with  more  than  a  himdred 


THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CECILY.  87 

men  of  all  ranks  and  a^es,  armed  with  axes  and  crowbai's, 
and  a  variety  of  other  similar  instruments ;  they  had 
spoken  in  the  most  unseemly  manner  to  the  persons  sta- 
tioned at  the  porches  of  the  church,  and  made  use  of  lan- 
guag'e  the  most  insolent  and  shameless  towards  the  nuns, 
who  now  and  then  glided  throug-h  the  aisles  on  some  pious 
errand,  blatters  indeed  had  gone  so  far,  that  the  old 
steward  hastened  to  the  sacristy,  and  there  on  his  knees 
implored  the  abbess  to  postpone  the  festival,  and  to  take 
remge  in  the  town  under  the  protection  of  the  com- 
mandant. But  the  abbess  continued  inflexible  in  her 
resolution,  that  this  festival,  ordained  foi*  the  honour 
and  glory  of  God,  should  at  all  hazards  be  celebrated ; 
she  reminded  the  steward  of  his  duty  to  protect  with 
life  and  limb  the  High  Mass  and  solemn  procession  about 
to  be  held  in  the  church;  and  as  the  bell  was  then 
tolling,  ordered  the  nuns,  who  surrounded  her  in  fear 
and  trembling,  to  select  any  music,  however  inferior, 
so  they  might  commence  without  delay. 

The  nuns  were  taking  their  places ;  the  parts  of  a 
mass  which  they  had  frequently  sung  before  had  just 
been  distributed,  when  suddenly  Sister  Antonia,  in 
sound  and  perfect  health,  though  somewhat  pale,  o[)- 
peared  slowly  ascending  the  staii-s,  carrying  under  her 
arm  the  mass  of  that  old  Italian  master,  for  the  per- 
formance of  which  the  abbess  had  expressed  so  great 
an  anxiety.  "  No  matter,  sisters,  no  matter !"  was 
her  reply  to  the  inquiries  of  the  astonished  nuns  as 
to  the  secret  of  her  wonderful  recovery ;  and  giving 
to  each  their  several  parts,  she  seated  herself  at  the 
organ.  No  sooner  had  she  commenced,  tlian  the  pious 
sisters  felt  in  their  breasts  a  most  heavenly  and  mi- 
raculous feeling  of  consolation ;  the  very  anxiety  wliicli 
they  felt  only  helped  to  waft  their  sovds,  as  on  wings, 
still  higher  and  higher.  The  mass  was  performed  with 
the  utmost  dignity  and  g'randeur.  Not  a  breath  was 
heard  in  the  aisles  or  nave  throug'hout  the  entire  ser- 
vice ;  daring  the  "  Kyrie"  especially,  and  yet  more  at 
the  "  Gloria,"  it  seemed  as  though  the  whole  congie- 


OO  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

gation  had  been  stricken  dead;  even  the  dust  on  the 
pavement  remained  unstirred  by  the  wind,  as  if  in 
defiance  of  the  four  sacrilegious  brothers  and  their 
followers. 

Six  years  afterwards,  when  this  event  had  been  lonc" 
forgotten,  the  mother  of  these  four  young-  men  arrived 
from  the  Hague,  and  instituted  inquiries,  with  the  aid 
of  the  magistrates,  as  to  what  road  they  had  taken  on 
leaving  Aix-la-Chapelle;  for  that  they  had  never  since 
been  heard  of.  The  last  accounts  received  of  them  in 
the  Netherlands  came,  slie  said,  in  a  letter  writton  by 
the  preacher  to  his  friend,  a  sclioolmaster  in  Antwerp, 
on  the  eve  of  the  Festival  of  Corpus  Christi,  six  years 
before ;  and  in  it  he  had  given  a  detailed  description  of 
an  enterprise  they  had  projected  against  the  Convent  of 
St.  Cecily,  but  of  which  she  would  not  now  comjnuni- 
cate  any  further  particulars. 

After  many  vain  efforts  to  discover  the  objects  of 
her  search,  the  magistrates  recollected  that  many  years 
before,  about  the  period  she  mentioned,  four  yoimg 
men,  whose  country  and  parentage  were  luiknown,  liad 
been  confined  in  the  lunatic  asylum  recently  founded 
by  the  emj)eror.  But  as  they  were  suffering  from  reli- 
gious dei'angement,  and,  as  the  magistrate  seemed  to 
imply  from  obscure  report,  of  such  a  character  as  to 
lead  to  the  impression  that  they  were  Catholics,  the 
description  so  little  answered  the  well-known  dispo- 
sition of  her  sons,  that  the  unha[)py  woman  paid  little 
or  no  heed  to  the  information.  At  length,  however, 
being  struck  by  many  of  the  particulars  given,  she  went 
one  day,  accompanied  by  an  officer  of  the  court,  to  the 
asylum,  and  begged  to  be  permitted  to  see  the  four 
unfortunate  lunatics. 

They  were  seated,  in  long  black  mantles,  at  a  table, 
on  which  stood  a  crucifix.  They  a])peare(l  to  be  ])ray- 
ing  before  it  in  silence,  their  folded  hands  resting  on 
the  table.  The  unfortunate  mother,  recognising  her 
sons,  sank  powerless  on  a  chair.     To  her  inquiries  as  to 


THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CECILT.  89 

the  nature  of  their  insanity,  the  governor  replied  that 
they  were  simply  encrag^ed  in  the  adoration  of  the  Re- 
deemer, imagining-  that  they  had  a  clearer  conception 
than  others  of  His  divinity  as  the  true  Son  of  the  one 
Uving  God.  He  said  that  they  had  now  led  this 
ascetic  life  for  more  than  six  years ;  that  they  slept 
little,  ate  little,  never  opened  their  lips,  and  never  rose 
from  their  seats  save  at  midnight,  and  then  only  for  the 
purpose  of  intoning  the  Gloria  in  excehis,  wliich  they 
did  with  a  voice  loud  enough  to  shatter  the  very  windows 
of  the  house.  He  concluded  bv  assuring  her,  that  not- 
withstanding  all  this,  these  patients  enjoyed  perfect 
health,  and  even  a  certain  degree  of  <jheerfuluess,  though 
of  a  somewhat  grave  and  solemn  character;  that  when- 
ever any  one  pronounced  them  deranged,  they  compas- 
sionately shrugged  tiieir  shoulders,  and  more  tlian  once 
exclaimed,  that  if  the  good  town  of  Aix-la-Chapelle 
were  only  to  know  as  much  as  they  did,  every  one  of 
its  inhabitants  would  leave  his  business,  kneel  down 
round  the  crucifix,  and  employ  his  time  in  singing  the 
Gloria  in  excchlt,  like  themselves. 

The  wretched  woman,  no  longer  able  to  endure  the 
painful  siglit,  at  length  allowed  herself  to  be  conducted 
home ;  and  on  the  following  morning,  hoping  to  gain 
some  information  as  to  the  cause  wliich  had  produced  this 
extraoi-dinaiy  ett'ect,  she  sought  the  house  of  Ilerr  ^'eit 
Gotthelf,  a  wealthy  cloth- merchant  of  the  town,  who 
had  been  mentioned  in  the  letter  written  by  the  preacher 
as  one  who  took  an  active  part  in  the  project  for  the 
destruction  of  the  Convent  of  St.  Cecily.  Veit  Gotthelf 
received  the  stranger  with  much  cou:  tesy  ;  but  on  learn- 
ing her  business,  he  bolted  the  door,  and  after  request- 
ing her  to  l)e  seated,  he  cautiously  began  his  narrative 
in  the  following  words  : — 

"  Mv  good  ladv,  provided  you  promise  not  to  im- 
plicate me,  who  some  six  years  since  was  in  habits  of 
close  intimacy  with  your  sons,  in  any  judicial  investi- 
gations which  may  hereafter  arise  out  of  this  aftair,  I 
will  deal  fmnklv  with  vou,  and  tell  vou  all  I  know 


90  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

without  reserve.  It  is  quite  true  that  we  harboured  the 
intention  spoken  of  in  the  letter  you  refer  to ;  and  by 
what  means  tliis  project,  planned  and  arranged  with  ad- 
mirable precision  and  sagacity,  came  to  be  fnistraitd  in 
the  execution,  I  have  never  been  able  to  discover ;  heaven 
itself  seems  to  have  taken  the  convent  of  these  good 
women  imder  its  holy  protection.  All  I  know  is,  that, 
as  a  preliminary  to  more  decided  measures,  your  sons 
had  already  indulged  in  many  wanton  pranks,  disturb- 
ing the  divine  service ;  and  that  upwaras  of  three  hun- 
dred miscreants,  armed  with  crowbars  and  torches,  only 
awaited  the  si^ai  of  the  preacher  to  raze  the  church  to 
the  ground.  But  instead  of  this,  at  the  fii-st  sound  of 
the  music,  your  sons  simultaneously  took  off  their  hats 
with  an  air  of  reverence  that  struck  us  all  with  surj^rise ; 
then,  by  degrees,  they  buried  their  faces  in  their  hands, 
as  though  in  some  strange  access  of  deep  and  speechless 
emotion ;  and  after  awhile  the  preacher,  tui*ning  round 
suddenly,  called  on  us  all,  in  a  loud  and  terrible  voice, 
to  do  as  they  had  done,  and  to  uncover  our  heads.  In 
vain  did  some  of  the  party  touch  his  arm,  and  beg  of 
him  in  a  whisper  to  give  the  preconcerted  sig-nal.  In- 
stead of  answering,  the  preacher  crossed  his  hands  on 
his  breast,  dropped  on  his  knees,  and,  together  with  his 
three  brothers,  bowing  his  head  with  fervour  to  the 
very  ground,  recited  in  an  under-tone  those  very  prayei-s 
at  which  the  moment  before  he  hnd  ])een  openly  scof- 
fing. Utterly  perplexed  at  such  a  s])ectacle,  tlje  crowd 
of  fanatics,  deprived  of  tlieir  leader,  remained  standing, 
undecided  and  inactive,  until  the  conclusion  of  the 
wonderful  musical  composition  that  had  just  l)een  per- 
formed by  the  choir;  then,  as  several  of  those  who  had 
committed  the  disturbances  were  seized  and  taken  off 
by  a  guaid,  the  misei-able  gang  liad  no  alternative  but 
to  I'etire  from  the  cluwch  and  disperse.  1  hat  evening, 
after  many  fruitless  inquiries  at  tlie  hotel  for  your  sons, 
who  had  not  yet  returned,  I  went  back  with  a  few 
friends  in  a  great  state  of  alarm  to  the  convent,  with 
the  view  of  obtaining   further  infoi-mation  from  tba 


THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CECILY,  91 

door-keepei"s,  who  had  been  actively  engaged  in  assist- 
ing- the  imperial  guard.  But  how  can  I  describe  my 
horror,  maaam,  on  beholding  these  men  transformed,  as 
it  were,  into  stone,  lying  prostrate,  with  folded  hands, 
before  the  altar,  and  kissing  the  ground  with  most  en- 
thusiastic fervour!  It  was  in  vain  that  the  convent 
steward  pulled  their  cloaks  and  shook  them  by  the  arm, 
begging  of  them  to  leave  the  church,  which  was  already 
quite  dark.  They  heeded  neither  threat  nor  entreaty, 
but  half  rose  up  as  if  in  a  dream,  until  the  steward, 
with  some  of  his  servants,  laid  hold  of  them,  and  led 
them  out  of  the  church.  Then  only  iJid  they  consent 
to  follow  us  to  the  town ;  though  not  without  heavy 
sighs,  and  constantly  looking  round,  as  if  their  hearts 
were  breaking  at  this  parting  from  the  church.  We 
repeatedly  asked  them  what  had  happened,  thus  tho- 
roughly to  change  their  whole  being ;  but  thev  2nade 
no  other  reply  than  by  pressing  our  hands,  Itjoking  at 
us  kindh ,  then  gazing  on  the  gTourid,  and  wiping  from 
time  to  time  the  tears  from  their  eyes,  with  an  expres- 
sion, the  remembrance  of  which  still  to  this  very  day 
deeply  affects  me.  An-ived  at  their  lodgings,  they 
very  ingeniously  made  a  cross  of  birch-rods ;  and  set- 
ting it  upon  a  little  mound  of  wax,  placed  it  on  the 
large  table  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  between  two 
lights  ;  and  then,  as  if  their  senses  were  closed  to  every 
thing  else  in  the  world,  they  seated  themselves  at  the 
table,  and  commenced  v>-ith  folded  hands  their  acts  of 
silent  adoration;  whilst  v..eir  friends,  who  came  crowd- 
ing to  see  them  in  increasing  numbei"s,  stood  round  in 
sej)arate  gTou])s,  wringing  their  hands  in  unutterable 
anguish  at  witnessing  such  strange  and  ghostlike  beha- 
viour. Tiiey  refused  to  partake  of  the  dinner  whicli 
tliey  had  ordered  for  tlie  entertainment  of  their  accom- 
plices, nor  woidd  they  at  a  latt-r  hour  retire  to  the  beds 
that  had  been  prepared  for  them  in  the  adjoining  cham- 
ber. By  and  by,  at  the  hour  of  midnight,  your  four 
sons,  after  listening  for  a  moment  to  the  dull  striking  of 
the  clock,  rose  abruptly  with  one  accord  from  their 


93  CATHOLIC  LEQEN1>8. 

seats,  and  began  to  intone  the  Gloria  in  excelsis  with 
a  voice  as  ten-ible  as  the  howling;  of  wolves  and  leopards 
in  the  icy  winter  season.  I  assure  you,  the  very  pillars 
of  the  house  shook  again,  and  the  windows  gave  forth 
a  sound  as  though  handfiils  of  sand  had  been  thrown 
against  them.  We  rushed  out  without  cloaks  or  hats 
through  the  neighbouring  streets,  wliich  soon  became 
filled  with  crowds  of  people,  roused  suddenly  from  their 
slumbers.  The  mob,  breaking  through  the  house-door, 
reached  up  staii's  to  the  hall  in  search  of  the  cause  of 
all  this  clamour;  yet  your  sons  still  continued  tlieir 
dreadful  chant,  without  paying  the  least  attention  to 
the  anger  of  the  landlord,  or  the  exclamations  of  the 
surrounding  multitude.  At  length,  when  the  clock 
struck  one,  they  suddenly  stopped,  wiped  from  their  fore- 
heads the  perspiration  which  was  falling  in  large  diops 
on  the  table,  and  spreading  out  their  cloaks,  laid  them 
down  on  the  hard  floor  to  take  an  hour's  rei)ose.  AVith 
the  firet  crowing  of  the  cock,  they  rose  again,  rosmned 
their  seats  round  the  table,  with  the  crucifix  in  the 
midst,  and  recommenced  their  melancholy  mode  of 
existence,  which  exhaustion  alone  had  forced  them  for 
a  moment  to  interrupt.  They  woidd  take  no  advice  or 
assistance  from  the  landlord ;  they  only  bepged  him  to 
den}--  them  to  such  of  their  fi-iends  as  niiglit  come  as 
usual  to  visit  them  in  the  morning,  asked  for  some 
bread  and  water,  and  a  little  straw  for  their  bed  at 
night ;  in  slioi't,  tliey  conducted  tliemselves  in  such  a 
manner,  that  the  landlord  felt  bound  to  notify  the  case 
to  the  magistrates,  and  beg  them  to  assist  him  in  get- 
ting rid  of  his  lodgers,  who  were  doubtless  jiossesscd  by 
some  evil  spirit.  They  were  sulijected  to  medicnl  in- 
spection; and  being  declared  deranged,  were  lodged  in 
the  lunatic  asylum,  where  you  liuve  seen  tliem." 

Three  days  afterwards,  the  poor  niothei-  set  out  with 
a  female  fi'iend  to  the  convent,  for  the  melanclioly  ])ur- 
pose  of  viewing  with  lier  own  eyes  the  spot  where  God 
nad  so  smitten  her  sons  to  tlie  earth,  as  ifwitii  invisible 
lightning.     Tha  lady  abbess  having  heard  of  her  ar- 


THE  CONVENT  OF  ST.  CECILY.  93 

rival,  requested  she  might  be  sent  for  to  her  ovre  ooni, 
where  they  entered  into  very  earnest  conversat  in  on 
the  su])ject  of  the  melancholy  history  in  which  they 
were  both  so  deeply  interested.  On  a  desk,  by  th  3  side 
of  the  abbess,  lay  a  piece  of  music,  the  scores  of  a 
mass ;  and  the  lady  timidly  asked  if  this  were  the  ?ame 
composition  which  had  been  performed  on  that  f  arful 
day.  On  receiving*  an  answer  in  the  affirmative  she 
rose  in  a  state  of  gTcat  excitement,  and  examined  the 
unknown  and  magical  si^s,  which  seemed  to  her  like 
the  mysterious  work  of  some  fearful  spirit;  and  on 
finding--  tbe  pag-e  opened  at  the  Gloria  in  excelsis, 
was  on  the  point  of  sinking'  to  the  ground.  It  seemed 
to  her  as  tliough  the  same  mysterious  power  which  had 
crushed  the  intellects  of  her  children  was  now  rushing 
with  equal  force  on  her  own  devoted  head  ;  she  feared 
that  she  was  about  to  lose  her  own  senses  also  fi-om  the 
mere  sight ;  and  after  having  hastily  pressed  her  lips 
to  the  pnge,  with  an  intense  feeling  of  humility  and  re- 
signation to  the  Divine  Will,  she  resumed  her  seat. 
*'  It  was  God,  my  dear  lady,"  said  the  abbess,  ''who 
protected  our  convent  on  that  extraordinary  day  against 
the  contemplated  violence  of  your  children,  now  so 
heavily  afflicted.  No  one  has  the  least  idea  who  it 
was  that  in  the  confusion  and  distress  of  that  dreadful 
hour,  when  the  image-breakers  were  on  the  point  of 
rushiiig  in  upon  us,  sat  calmly  and  quietly  at  tlie  organ, 
and  directed  the  execution  of  that  composition  you  see 
lying  before  you.  It  is  certain  that  Sister  Antonia, 
who  was  the  only  member  of  our  community  cnpaljle  of 
doing  it,  lay  on  her  sick-bed  during  tlie  whole  period 
of  its  performance,  devoid  of  all  consciousness,  and 
deprived  *  of  the  use  of  all  her  limbs.  The  sister 
who  had  been  selected  to  attend  her  did  not  once  quit 
her  bedside  the  whole  of  that  forenoon  during  tlie  cele- 
bration ot"  the  Festival  of  Corpus  Christi ;  and,  in  fact, 
Sister  Antonia  never  recovereil  from  the  stsite  of  insen- 
sibility in  which  she  was  on  the  morning  of  that  day, 
but  died  that  very  same  evening.     The  Archbishop  of 


94  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

Treves  does  not  hesitate  to  say  that  he  beUeves  it  to  have 

been  St.  Ceciha  hei-self  who  wroug-ht  this  fearllil  yet 

•lorious  mu-acle ;  and  I  have  just  received  a  brief  from 

is  HoHness  the  Pope  expressing  the  same  opinion." 

*  *  m  * 

The  lady  retunied  to  the  Haggle,  and  was  received 
the  following  year  into  the  bosom  of  the  Catholic 
Churcii.  Her  sons  passed  in  a  good  old  age  to  a  calm 
and  peaceful  death,  after  intoning  once  more,  according 
to  their  custom,  the  Gloria  in  excehis. 


XV. 
THE  KNIGHT  OF  CHAMPFLEURY. 

In  the  twelfth  century  tliere  lived  at  Champfleury,  in 
the  province  of  Champagne,  a  knight,  whose  ex})en(li 
ture  was  more  lavish  than  his  fortune  could  well  admit 
of.  He  Avas  too  much  devoted  to  jileasure,  and  spent 
all  his  wealth  in  festivities,  so  tliat  at  last  he  fell  into 
deoj)  distress ;  and  his  friends,  wlio  were  so  devoted  to 
him  while  they  shared  his  banquets,  ceased  to  know 
him  when  he  became  poor. 

He  had  married  a  young  lady,  wliose  sweetness, 
modesty,  and  sim])le  grace  rendei-ed  him  the  happiest 
of  husbimds.  But  tlie  dowry  of  the  gentle  Marie  liad 
been  wasted  like  all  the  rest;  and  there  now  only 
remained  to  this  im])Overished  couj)le  a  half-ruined 
manor-house,  in  which  tliey  lived  in  total  solitude. 
But  the  young  wife,  always  resigned  and  submissive, 
never  breathed  a  single  word  of  com])laint,  question, 
or  rei)roach. 

One  day,  as  if  to  complete  tlie  distress  of  tlie  Lord 
of  Cliampiieuiy,  it  was  announced  to  him  that  the 
Count  of  Chan][)agne,  his  suzerain,  was  coming  to  pass 
a  few  days  on  his  estate,  and  would  halt  at  his  house 
for  dinner.     The  knight,  who  loved  vanity  and  magni- 


THE  KNIOHT  OF  CHAMPFLEURY.  96 

ficence,  fell  into  tlie  darkest  melancholy;  he  left  his 
house,  and  sought  a  lonely  place,  where  he  might  weep 
in  secret. 

After  wandering  about  for  an  hour,  he  stopped  in 
the  middle  of  a  desert  plain,  and  threw  himself  down 
on  the  dry  gi-ass,  in  a  space  where  four  ways  met,  en- 
closed by  seven  withered  chestnut-trees.  As  he  was 
giving  vent  to  his  vehement  gnef,  and  seeking  in  vain 
in  his  mind  for  any  device  whereby  he  might  be  enabled 
to  receive  the  proposed  visits  in  a  fitting  manner,  with- 
out jierceiving  that  the  day  was  drawing  to  a  close  (it 
was  in  the  month  of  May),  he  suddenly  heard  the  rapid 
steps  of  a  hoi"seman  approaching  him.  He  hastened  to 
dry  his  tears,  rose  up,  and  found  himself  in  the  pre- 
sence of  a  man  of  lofty  and  imposing  stature,  but 
gloomy  aspect,  mounted  on  an  Arab  hoi"se  as  black 
as  ebony.  He  looked  at  him  attentively,  and  was  sure 
that  he  had  never  seen  him  before.  The  imkno\m  dis- 
mounted. 

"  You  are  in  great  trouble.  Sire  de  Champfleury," 
said  he  with  an  appearance  of  interest :  "  do  not  be 
offended  if  I  beg  to  know  the  cause  of  it ;  perhaps,  how- 
ever, I  know  it  already.  If  then  you  will  consent  to  do 
me  homage,  I  can  relieve  you,  and  replace  you  in  a 
brilhant  position,  restoring  to  you  greater  riches  than 
those  you  have  lost." 

Tbe  astonished  knight,  before  he  replied,  examined 
the  stranger  anew.  He  was  simply  clad  in  black; 
and  there  was  no  coat  of  arms,  either  on  his  mantle, 
or  on  the  trappings  of  his  horse,  to  indicate  a  mighty 
sovereign ;  neither  had  he  squires  nor  attendants  of  any 
kind.     At  last  the  Sire  of  Champfleury  spoke. 

"  My  suzerain,"  he  said,  "  is  the  Count  of  Cham- 
pagne. Wliatever  I  can  do  to  serve  you  that  will  not 
falsify  tlie  oath  of  fidelity  which  I  have  sworn  to  him, 
I  will  gladly  perform,  when  I  am  convinced  that  your 
promises  are  serious.  But  first  of  all  I  must  know  who 
you  are." 

"  When  we  have  made  our  agreement,"  answered 


96  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

the  black  knig-lit,  "  you  shall  know  me.  fhe  homag-e 
which  I  requu-e  does  not  in  any  way  interfere  with 
that  wlxich  you  owe  to  the  Count  of  Champagne, 
Yoiu"  suzerain,  who  in  two  days'  time  intends,  with  a 
brilliant  suite,  to  stop  for  dinner  at  your  manor-house." 

These  last  words  cruelly  recalled  to  the  knig-ht  his 
desperate  situation. 

"  Whoever  you  may  be,"  he  said  at  last,  after  a 
moment  of  silence,  "  and  if  it  ruin  me  utterly,  only 
saving'  my  honour,  I  give  myself  up  to  you,  for  I  was 
at  the  point  of  death ;  but,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of 
agony,  "  I  must  first  know  who  you  arc." 

"  Well,  then,"  answered  the  black  knight  slowly, 
"  be  not  terrified  :  thoug-h  my  name  may  perhaps  sound 
strange  to  yoiu  Christian  ear,  and  your  prejudices  will  rise 
up  against  me,  I  am  he,  who,  once  an  inipriident  rel)el, 
am  now  a  reprobate  chief, — do  you  not  miderstand  me 
now  ?  You  see  in  me  the  object  of  the  ierror  of  your 
brethren,  that  fallen  ang'el  who  dared  to  strive  in 
heaven." 

"  Satan !"  exclaimed  the  Sire  of  Champfleury,  re- 
coiling- with  terror ;  and  he  raised  his  hand  instinctively 
to  make  tlie  sign  of  the  Cross. 

The  stranger  hastily  seized  his  arm. 

"  Stop,"  said  he,  with  an  agitated  voice,  "  what 
you  were  about  to  do  is  painful  to  me.  I  come  to  save 
you ;  but  lor  me  you  are  on  the  very  threshold  of  dis- 
gTace ;  but  I  can  restore  to  you  riclies  and  honours." 

"  I  doubt  it  not,"  answered  the  knigljt  bitterly ; 
"  but  I  will  have  none  of  your  g'ifts." 

"  As  you  please,"  said  the  other ;  "  in  two  days 
then,  when  tlie  Count  of  Champagne  arrives — " 

The  knight  started ',  then,  as  if  fascinated  by  a 
g-lancc  from  the  black  stranger,  he  resumed  in  a  tone 
of  apparent  tranquillity,  "  But  in  what  consists  the 
homage  to  which  you  desire  to  subject  me  ?" 

"  In  very  easy  matters,"  replied  the  fiend,  who 
])aused  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  recollect  himself,  and  then 
continued, 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  CHAMPFLEURY.  97 

"  1  shall  only  require  three  things.  The  first  may 
seem  strange  to  you ;  but,  you  see,  I  must  have  some 
guarantee ;  the  rest  will  be  more  easy.  You  must  sell 
me  the  eternal  salvation  of  your  wife,  and  bring  her  to 
me  on  this  day  next  year." 

The  knight,  though  he  expected  some  revolting  pro- 
posal, was  indignant  at  this  j  and  his  heart  beat  fast 
with  ang-er.  But  he  was  under  an  influence  which  made 
itself  felt  more  and  more  powerfully  every  moment. 
By  degrees  his  indignation  calmed  itself  down;  he 
thought  that  the  rebel  angel  mi^ht  have  demanded 
something  yet  worse;  that  he  had  a  year  before  him 
wherein  to  modify  the  abominable  bargain ;  and  so  he 
only  muttered  in  a  hesitating  voice,  that  it  was  not  in 
his  power  to  execute  the  condition  proposed. 

"  Only  bring  her  here,"  said  the  black  knight, 
*'  that  is  all  I  ask ;  on  this  day  next  year  bring  your 
wife  here  alone  with  you,  without  having  warned  her 
of  our  contract.     The  rest  is  my  affair." 

The  Knight  of  Champfleurv  accepted  this  first  con- 
dition; and  sigTied  with  his  blood,  on  a  triangle  of 
blank  parchment,  tlie  promise  to  fulfil  it. 

The  eyes  of  tlie  prince  of  liell  tlicn  glared  in  triumph; 
and  he  proposed  liis  second  condition,  wliicli  was,  that 
the  knight  should  deny  liis  Ood.  At  this  fearfid  word 
he  recoiled  in  hon-or,  and  burst  forth  into  a  torrent  of 
reproaches,  to  which  the  stranger  answered  notljing; 
and  too  soon  the  kniglit's  resistance  liad  exhausted 
itself,  and  he  consentecf  to  this  second  crime,  secretly 
whispering  to  himself  that  he  had  a  year  before  him 
wherein  to  repent.  Without  daring,  tliorefore,  to  raise 
his  eyes  towards  heaven,  and  shurldering  all  the  time 
at  his  own  baseness,  he  repented  the  blasphemies  which 
the  evil  spirit  dictiited  to  him,  and  formally  renounced 
his  portion  in  paradise. 

Thtis  he  was  entirely  in  the  grasp  of  Satan,  and 

while  cold  dews  of  horror  stood  on  his  brow,  lie  asked 

what  was  the  third  condition  of  his  compact ;  and  the 

fiend,  protesting  that  after  that  he  would  ask  nothing 

i{ 


98  CATHOLIC  LKaENDS. 

fiirther,  declared  to  him  that  he  must  renounce  the 
Blessed  Virgin. 

The  Sire  de  Champfleury  started  back  at  the  word, 
and  recovered  some  remains  of  energ-y ;  for,  thoug-h  he 
well  knew  that  in  denying-  his  God  he  had  committed 
a  crime  still  blacker,  yet  this  third  act  was  to  liim  as 
the  last  dz'op  which  made  the  cup  of  horror  overflow. 

"  Renounce  the  Blessed  Virgin!"  he  cried, — "  after 
two  crimes  which  destroy  my  soul,  shall  I  further  re- 
nounce the  Mother  of  God, — the  patroness  and  protec- 
tress of  my  own  Marie  ?" 

The  fiend  started  at  the  name. 

"  If  I  renounce  her,"  thoug-lit  the  knig-ht,  "  what 
support,  what  resource  shall  I  have  left  to  make  it  pos- 
sible for  me  ever  to  be  reconciled  to  God  ?  No,"  he 
continued,  speaking-  aloud,  "  I  will  never  submit  to  this 
last  degradation ;  you  have  led  me  too  far :  you  have 
ruined  me ;  let  us  have  done,  and  do  thou  leave  me." 

He  was  so  determined,  that  the  demon,  seeing  that 
he  might  lose  all  if  he  pressed  him  too  closely  on  this 
point,  contented  himself  with  what  he  had  already 
eained.  Then  he  told  the  knight  of  a  secret  corner  in 
his  house  where  he  would  find  immense  sums  of  gold 
and  heaps  of  jewels  ;  after  which  he  mounted  his  horse 
and  disappeared. 

The  knight,  greatly  agitated,  returned  home.  He 
found  the  promised  treasures  in  the  precise  spot  where 
he  had  been  directed  to  seek  for  them ;  and  gathering 
them  u]),  without  confiding  to  any  one  tlie  treaty  by 
which  he  had  made  them  his  own,  prepnred  for  the  ex- 
pected visit. 

He  received  the  Count  of  Chani])agne  witli  such 
magnificence,  that  those  who  believed  liim  to  liave  been 
impoverished  knew  not  what  to  think ;  and  tliey  were 
still  more  amazed  when,  on  one  of  the  barons  in  the 
Count's  suite  reminding  him  that  St.  Bernard  was  at 
that  time  preaching  the  second  crusade,  and  invitmg 
him  to  follow  under  the  banner  of  his  king,  Louis  the 
Young,  he  replied  that  pai-ticular  engagements  would 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  CHAMPFLEURY,  V)9 

keep  him  at  home  during  the  whole  of  that  year ;  but 
that  he  begg'ed  to  offer  to  the  coimt  his  suzerain  200 
mai-ks  of  gold,  to  furnish  the  equipment  of  his  troop. 
The  count  accepted  tliis  liberal  sum  with  gratitude ;  and 
the  whole  court  complimented  the  Sire  de  Champfleury, 
who  soon  after  this  enlarged  his  possessions,  rebuilt  his 
castle  in  the  most  sumptuous  manner,  and  distinguished 
himself  more  than  ever  by  his  magnificence  and  the 
splendour  of  his  entertainments. 

With  all  this,  it  was  remarked  that  he  had  lost  all 
his  fonner  gaiety;  and  that  his  brow  was  constantly 
clouded  with  care.  The  joy  of  his  newly  acquired  wealth, 
the  perpetual  round  of  festivity  in  which  he  indulged, 
the  occupations  which  he  multiplied  to  himself  in  the 
hope  of  distraction, — all  could  not  suffice  to  deaden  the 
anguish  which  pierced  his  very  soul,  when  he  remembered 
the  fearful  promise  which  he  had  given,  and  signed  with 
his  own  blood ;  his  lieai-t  was  slowly  wasting  away 
within  him ;  his  nights  were  sleepless ;  his  happiness 
only  a  splendid  pageant  with  no  reality.  He  could  no 
longer  feel  any  of  those  impulses  whicli  lead  to  prayer  • 
on  the  contrary,  if  ever  he  entered  a  church,  he  was 
seized  with  a  trembling  horror  wliich  drove  him  from 
it;  so  that  he  never  dared  assist  at  any  of  the  sacred 
offices.  He  had  reckoned  on  making  use  of  this  year 
to  reconcile  himself  witli  God ;  but  a  bar  of  iron  seemed 
to  be  fixed  in  liis  lieart  between  remorse  and  repentance. 
His  wife  gave  liim  a  little  son  just  four  montlis  before 
the  anniversary  of  the  fatal  compact. 

The  knight,  whose  pride  revolted  at  the  idea  of 
confessing  from  wluit  source  his  riches  came,  had  never 
revealed  to  any  one  his  dreadful  secret.  It  was  only  at 
the  moment  of  fulfilling  liis  engagement  tliat  he  re- 

f retted  he  had  not  consulted  some  learned  religious ; 
ut  it  was  now  too  late.  One  single  h.)])e  remained  to 
him, — his  young  wife,  so  pure  and  })ious, — coxdd  it  be 
that  heaven  would  abandon  her  in  her  need  ? 

When  the  fatal  day  was  come,  he  called  her  to  him, 


100  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

and  said :  "  We  liave  a  journey  to  take  to-day.     Get 
ready,  for  we  must  mount  on  horseback  immediately." 

The  young'  lad}'^  placed  her  little  son  in  the  arras  of 
her  servant,  said  her  ])rayers,  and  followed  her  husband. 
"  Shall  we  soon  return  ?"  she  asked. 
"  Oh !  we  are  not  g'oing'  far,"  answered  the  knight 
vaguely,  and  hastened  their  departure. 

After  the  pair  had  journeyed  on  for  about  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  they  came  to  a  little  chapel  consecrated  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin;  and  the  lady  of  Champfleury,  whose 
tender  devotion  to  her  g'entle  patroness  the  knight  well 
knew,  begged  liis  pennission  to  stop  for  a  few  seconds  in 
this  oratory;  for  she  never  passea  a  place  dedicated  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin  without  pausing  there  to  ofter  up  a 
short  prayer.  Accordingly,  he  gave  her  his  hand  to 
dismount,  and  remained  himself  at  the  door  while  she 
went  in,  holding  the  two  horses.  The  lady  remained 
but  a  short  time  in  prayer;  and,  as  soon  as  she  re-ap- 
peared, the  knight  replaced  her  in  her  saddle,  and  rode 
on  by  her  side,  shuddering  inwardly  more  and  more, 
the  nearer  tliey  approaclied  their  journey's  end. 

Never  had  his  young  wife, — of  wliom,  now  tliat  lie 
was  perhaps  about  to  lose  her,  he  felt  bitterly  tliat  he 
was  no  longer  worthy, — never  had  liis  sweet  ^Marie 
been  so  dear  to  him.  Her  beauty,  full  of  modesty,  tlie 
serenity  of  her  countenance,  her  smile  sweeter  tlian  ever, 
claimed  from  him  at  once  i-espect  and  tenderness.  But 
lie  could  only  sig-li :  he  felt  liimsclf  a  slave  to  tlie  com- 
pact lie  had  signed :  and  he  stood  in  too  great  dread  of 
liim  to  whom  he  liad  bound  liim-^elf,  to  dare  dream  for  a 
moment  of  drawing  back  from  the  fullilment  of  his 
pledge ;  althougli  it  seemed  to  him  that  to  snatch  away 
his  young"  and  virtuous  partner  would  be  to  tear  from 
him  liis  heart.  Hot  tears  from  time  to  time  rolled  down 
liis  clieeks,  and  his  breast  heaved  witli  siglis  when  he 
beheld  the  seven  withered  cliestnut  trees,  under  which 
his  interview  witli  the  black  knight  had  taken  ])lace. 
Involuntarily  he  drew  nearer  to  Marie,  and  would  havo 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  CHAMPFLEURY.  101 

taken  her  hand,  but  dared  not ;  he  could  only  murmur, 
"  My  dear  Marie  !" 

"  You  weep,"  she  answered,  "  you  tremble ;  have 
you  any  son'ow?" 

"  Oh  !  let  us  move  on,"  he  cried;  "  I  may  not  delay." 
A  feeling-  which  he  could  not  account  for  had  arisen 
within  him  towards  his  companion, — a  deep  sentiment 
of  veneration,  such  as  we  pay  to  the  saints  in  heaven, 
absorbed  every  other.  He  dared  no  longer  even  look 
towards  her,  but  spurred  on  his  horse  in  despair. 

As  soon  as  they  had  reached  the  spot  where  the 
compact  had  been  signed,  the  black  horseman  came 
galloping"  up,  followed  this  time  by  numerous  squires, 
all  clad  like  him  in  black.  But  he  had  no  sooner  raised 
his  eyes  towards  the  lady  whom  the  Lord  of  Champ- 
fleury  had  brought  him,  than  he  grew  pale,  shuddered, 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  gi'ound,  and  seemed  afraid  to  ad- 
vance a  single  step. 

''  Disloyal  man,"  said  he  at  last,  adch'essing  the 
knight,  '■'■  is  this  your  oath  V 

''  What !"  replied  the\  Lord  of  Champfleurv,  "  am 
I  not  here  punctual  to  the  liour  fixed  ?  I  have  brouo'ht 
you  more  than  my  life  ;  but  I  am  under  your  spells. ' 

''  The  compact  is  signed  with  your  blood,  base  and 
dishonourable  man,"  interru])ted  the  demon,  "  and  you 
have  enjoyed  all  the  fruits  of  it.  Were  you  not  to  have 
brought  your  wife  to  this  ])lace  ?  instead  of  which  you 
are  come  witli  my  inveterate  enemy." 

The  knight,  in  no  way  comprehending  what  these 
words  meant,  turned  towards  his  comj)anion.  An  au- 
reole of  light  siuTounded  tlie  lady's  brow ;  and  the 
black  horseman,  as  tliis  aureole  gradually  grew  larger, 
dared  no  more  to  u])]ift  his  voice. 

Tlie  tnith  was  tliis : — tlie  lady  of  C]iani])ileurv  had 
gone,  as  we  hav(!  seen,  into  tlie  chapel  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  and  had  placed  herself  lovingly  on  her  knees 
before  the  revered  image  of  the  Queen  of  Mercy ;  but 
she  had  fallen  into  a  miraculous  slumber  after  her  first 
Ave,  and  the  Mother  of  (»od  had  taken  her  form,  her- 


102  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

self  to  accompany  the  miserable  knight  to  the  fearful 
place  of  meeting. 

The  Lord  of  Champfleury,  stupefied  with  astonish- 
ment, felt  his  mind  ana  spirit  overwhelmed,  and  threw 
himself  down  from  his  horse  to  fall  at  the  feet  of  his 
beloved  Marie,  and  ask  her  pardon;  for  he  still  believed 
that  it  was  she  whom  he  had  brought,  and  the  aureole 
which  encircled  her  brow  appeared  to  him  only  as  the 
consoling  sign  of  the  protection  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
But  at  last  the  lady  spoke ;  and  with  that  voice,  full 
of  a  celestial  harmony,  and  calming  all  the  tumults  of 
eartli,  she  said  to  the  demon, 

"  Evil  spii'it,  didst  thou  dare  to  claim  as  thy  prey 
a  woman  who  trusts  in  me  ?  Will  thy  miserable  pride 
be  never  quelled  ?  I  come  not  to  chastise  thee,  nor  to 
aggravate  thy  pains ;  but  I  come  to  lift  up  tliis  weak 
sinner  from  his  apostasy,  and  to  witlidraw  from  thy 
hands  the  guilty  promise  which  thou  didst  constrain 
him  to  sign." 

The  spirit  of  darkness  bowed  liis  head,  sloAvly  yielded 
the  parcliment,  and  withdrew  in  mournful  silence. 

The  knight,  overwhelmed,  threw  liimself  on  the 
ground  and  burst  into  tears  :  the  Blessed  Virgin  touched 
him,  and  in  that  moment  he  found  again  what  he  had 
lost  for  a  whole  year,  the  blessing  of  being  able  to 
pray ;  and  confessed  with  sobs  of  anguish,  and  beating 
his  breast,  the  enormity  of  his  fall. 

"  Rise,  my  son,"  said  the  Blessed  Virgin,  "  and 
know  that  forgiveness  is  more  easy  to  God  than  sin  to 
you  ;  but  remember  your  transgression,  and  renounce 
pride  and  })resumption  for  ever." 

These  were  all  tlie  reproaches  she  addressed  to  him ; 
and  then  she  led  him  back  to  his  wife,  who  was  not 
yet  awake.  When  slie  arose  at  last  from  this  miraculous 
sleep,  she  saw  her  husband  kneeling  beside  her.  Tlie 
Blessed  Virgin  had  gone  back  into  heaven,  and  there 
only  remained  her  holy  image,  calm  and  placid,  in  its 
little  rustic  tabernacle.  The  knight  returaed  to  his 
house  with  his  beloved  wife,  and  confessed  to  her  his 


XULIMA,  THE  MOORISH  MAIDKX.  103 

enormous   sin,  and   the  unexpected   help  which   had 
draped  him  back  from  the  abyss. 

From  that  day  the  Lord  of  Champfleury  was  no 
more  celebrated  as  a  proud  and  brilliant  knight,  but  as 
a  model  of  piety  and  charity. 


XVI. 

ZULIMA,  THE  MOORISH  MAIDEN. 

The  tents  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  spread  far  and 
wide  before  the  walls  of  Grenada;  inclosed  within 
which,  and  hoping  in  vain  for  succour,  the  cowardly 
Boabdil,  whom  his  people  named  in  derision  the  little 
king,  found  no  consolation  for  his  calamities  but  in 
the  cruelties  wliich  he  practised  more  and  more  fero- 
ciously from  day  to  day.  But  while  discouragement 
and  despair  gTadually  took  possession  of  the  troops  and 
people  of  Grenada,  the  hope  of  triumph  and  zeal  for 
battle  animated  the  warrioi-s  of  Spain.  They  made  as 
yet  no  general  assault,  but  contented  themselves  with 
firing  on  the  ramparts,  and  forcing  back  further  and 
further  the  outworks  of  the  besieged.  These  little  skir- 
mishes were  more  like  joyous  tournaments  than  bloody 
battles;  and  even  the  death  of  the  Christian  hei-oes  who 
fell  in  them  served  but  to  raise  the  courage  of  their 
brethren ;  for  their  obsequies  were  celebrated  with  all 
the  splendour  the  Church  could  throw  around  them,  as 
of  martyrs  for  the  faith. 

In  the  midst  of  the  camp,  Isabella  Imd  caused  to  be 
erected  a  wooden  building,  crowned  with  towers,  on  the 
loftiest  of  which  floated  the  sacred  banner  of  the  cross. 
The  interior  was  so  arranged  as  to  serve  for  a  cloister 
and  a  church,  where  Benedictine  nuns  sang  their  holy 
office  daily ;  and  every  morning  the  queen,  accompanied 
by  her  attendant  ladies  and  a  compiiny  of  knights,  came 


104  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

there  to  hear  ]\Iass  said  by  her  confessor,  at  wliich  & 
choir  of  nuns  assisted. 

One  morning-  Isabella  disting^iiished  a  voice  among" 
them,  the  beautiful  qtiality  of  which  made  it  heard 
throug-h  all  the  others;  and  the  manner  in  which  it 
pronounced  the  words  was  so  singular,  that  she  could 
not  doubt  but  that  it  was  joining-  for  the  first  time  in 
the  holy  service.  The  queen  looked  around  her,  and 
perceiving  that  her  attendants  participated  in  her  as- 
tonishment, began  to  suspect  some  strang-e  adventure, 
wlien  her  e^'es  fell  on  her  brave  General  Agniilar,  who 
was  placed  not  far  from  her,  and  who,  kneeling*  on  his 
chair,  his  hands  joined,  and  his  e^'es  g-listening  with 
earnestness,  was  gazing  fixedly  at  the  gi-ating  of  the 
choir.  When  ^lass  was  ended,  Isabella  went  to  the 
apartment  of  Donna  Maria,  the  Supeiior,  and  asked 
who  this  strang-e  singer  was. 

"  You  may  i-emember,  0  queen,"  said  Donna  Maria, 
in  answer,  "  that,  a  montli  ago,  Don  Agniilar  had 
formed  the  project  of  attacking  one  of  the  enemy's  out- 
works, which  supports  a  magnificent  terrace,  used  by 
the  Moors  as  a  public  jjronienade.  That  night  the 
songs  of  the  p:igans  resounded  in  oiw  camp  like  the 
voices  of  syrens  ;  and  the  brave  Aguilnr  chose  it  inten- 
tionally, on  ]iurpose  to  destroy  the  haunt  of  the  mi- 
believers.  Already  the  outwork  was  carried,  and  the 
women  taken  prisoners  and  borne  away,  when  an  unex- 
pected reinforcement  oblig-ed  the  con(|ueror  to  retire  to 
the  camp;  where,  howevei\  the  enemy  dtii-ed  nol  pursue 
him,  so  that  the  prisoners  remained  in  tli(>  bands  of  our 
people.  Among"  them  was  one  woman  whose  despair 
excited  the  attention  of  Don  Ag"uilar.  lie  drew  near 
to  her;  she  was  veiled,  and.  as  if  lipr  grief  could  find 
no  other  expression  but  in  song,  she  took  tlie  lute, 
which  was  hung  round  her  neck  by  a  ri))bon  of  gold, 
and  after  having"  struck  a  few  chords,  she  began  to 
pour  forth,  in  tlie  form  of  a  ballad,  a  pathe*^ic  hiTueiit 
nn  the  forcible  separation  of  two  lovers.  Aguilar, 
deeplv  moved  bv  her  sorrow,  rc'^olved  to  send  lir^r  back 


ZULIMA,  THE  MOORISH   MAIDEN.  105 

into  Grenada;  and  in  grjititude  she  threw  hei-self  at 
his  fpet,  and  raised  her  veil.  '  Art  thou  not  ZuHma, 
the  pearl  of  all  tlie  sin^ng;-niaidens  of  Grenada?'  cried 
Agiiilar ;  and  it  was  in  fact  Zulima,  whom  he  had  seen 
once  hefore  when  he  was  on  a  mission  at  the  court  of 
King-  Boahdil ;  *  I  will  give  thee  thy  liberty,'  he  con- 
tinued. But  at  that  moment  the  reverend  Father 
Agostino  Sanchez,  who  had  come  to  the  Spanish  camp, 
the  cmcifix  in  his  hand,  and  was  standing-  near,  inter- 
rupted him,  su<r"-esting  that  it  was  no  kindness  to  the 
captive  to  send  her  back  into  a  camp  of  misbelievers ; 
and  that  perhaps,  if  she  remained  among*  Christians, 
the  grace  of  God  might  enlighten  her,  and  bring  her 
back  into  the  fold  of  the  faithful.  In  consequence  of 
this  representation,  Aguilar  determined  that  she  should 
remain  a  month  among  us,  and  that  if  at  the  end  of 
that  time  she  should  not  be  awakened  to  the  faith,  she 
should  then  return  to  Grenada.  It  was  thus,  0  Qtieen," 
continued  the  Superior,  "  that  Zulima  came  among  us 
in  this  our  cloister.  At  first  she  gave  herself  up  to  un- 
measured grief,  and  filled  the  cloister  with  songs,  now 
wild  and  fearful,  now  soft  and  plaintive ;  her  ringing 
voice  was  heard  every  where.  One  night,  as  we  were 
all  gathered  together  in  the  choir  of  the  church,  sing- 
ing our  holy  office  by  the  light  of  the  waxen  ta[)ei"s, 
I  discerned  Zulima  standing  by  the  open  door  of  the 
choir,  gazing  at  us  with  a  grave  and  meditative  aspect; 
and  when  we  left  the  chapel,  walking  two  and  two,  I 
saw  Zulima  kneeling  near  an  image  of  our  Blessed 
Lady.  The  following  day  she  sang  no  Moorish  songs; 
but  passed  it  in  silence  and  reflection :  and  soon  we 
heard  her  trying  on  her  lute  the  chants  which  we  had 
simg  in  churcli ;  and  afterwards  endeavouring,  in  a  low 
voice,  to  sing  them  herself,  and  even  to  imitate  the 
sacred  words,  which  sounded  strangely  in  her  mouth. 

"  I  felt  that  the  grace  of  God  was.  manifesting 
itself  in  this  song,  and  therefore  I  sent  Sister  ]*]nianuela, 
our  choir-mistress,  to  the  Moorisli  maiden,  that  she 
might  keep  alive  the  sacred  spark  which  seemed  to  be 


106  CATHOLIC  LKQENDS. 

kindled  within  her ;  and  in  tinith,  in  the  midst  of  the 
holy  psalms  which  they  sang  together,  her  heart 
awakened  to  faith.  Zulima  has  not  yet  been  received 
into  the  bosom  of  the  Church  by  the  Sacrament  of 
Baptism  j  but  it  has  been  permitted  her  to  join  us  in 
praising  the  Lord,  and  in  raising  her  wonderful  voice 
for  the  glory  of  our  holy  religion." 

The  queen  rejoiced  greatly  in  the  conversion  of 
Zulima,  who  some  days  after  was  baptised,  and  re- 
ceived the  name  of  Julia,  the  queen  herself,  and  the 
Mai-quis  of  Cadiz,  Henry  of  Gusman,  standing  as  her 
sponsors.  After  her  baptism,  however,  a  singular  change 
seemed  to  come  over  her :  she  would  sometimes  trouble 
the  service  of  the  church  by  strange  sounds,  while  the 
low  murmurs  of  her  lute  were  like  the  moaning^  of  a 
distant  storm.  She  lierself  became  more  and  more 
restless,  and  even  sometimes  interrupted  the  Latin 
hymns  with  Moorish  words.  The  choir-mistress,  Ema- 
nuela,  admonished  her  to  resist  this  temptation  ;  but 
Julia,  far  from  following  her  council,  would  often,  to 
the  gi'eat  scandal  of  the  sisters,  sing  Moorish  songs  at 
the  very  time  when  the  chants  of  the  Church  were 
echoing  through  the  cloisters,  touching  at  the  same 
time  on  her  instrument, — a  light  flute-like  accompani- 
ment, whicli  formed  a  sing-ulai*  contrast  to  the  solemn 
chords  of  the  religious  music. 

One  day,  when  the  queen,  accompanied  by  the  chief 
captains  of  lier  army,  wont  as  usual  to  hear  Mass  at  the 
chapel  of  the  Benedictine  nuns,  a  beggar  covered  with 
rags  was  standing  at  the  principal  gate,  who,  when  the 
guards  wished  to  drag  him  away,  ruslied  from  side  to 
side  like  a  madman,  and  even  struck  against  the  queen. 
Aguilar,  irritated  by  this,  was  about  to  strike  liim  with 
his  sword,  wlien  the  beggar,  drawing  a  lute  from  under 
his  mantle,  drew  from  it  sucli  wild  notes  as  startled  all 
around.  The  giiards  at  last  succeeded  in  leading  In'm 
away,  and  it  was  told  the  queen  that  he  was  a  jMooiish 
pi'isoner  wlio  ]iad  lost  his  wits,  and  who  was  allowed  to 
run  up  and  down  the  camp  to  amuse  the  soldiers  by  his 


ZULIM Ay  THE  MOORISH  MAIDEN.  107 

•ongs.  The  queen  entered  the  church,  and  the  Mass 
began.  The  sisters  of  the  choir  intoned  the  Sanctug; 
but  at  the  moment  when  Julia  began  with  a  powerful 
voice  Pleni  mint  coeli  et  terra  glorid  tnd,  the  notes  of  a 
lute  nmo-  throuo^h  the  church,  and  the  young  convert, 
closing  her  books,  prepared  to  leave  tbe  choii*.  The 
Superior  strove  in  vain  to  detain  her.  "Do  you  not 
hear,"  she  said  wildly,  "  the  master's  splendid  chords  ? 
I  must  go  to  sing  with  him."  But  Donna  Emanuela, 
holding  her  by  the  arm,  said  in  a  solemn  voice :  "  Sin- 
ner, who  thus  foi-sakest  the  service  of  thy  Lord,  and 
whose  heai-t  is  full  of  worldly  thoughts,  fiy  from  this 
place ;  but  know  that  thy  voice  shall  fail  thee,  and  the 
tones  which  the  Lord  has  lent  thee  to  praise  Him  shall 
be  hushed  for  ever."  Julia  turned  her  head  in  silence, 
and  disappeared. 

At  the  hour  of  matins,  when  the  nuns  were  just  as- 
sembling in  the  church,  a  thick  cloud  of  smoke  rose  to 
its  root;  and  very  soon  the  crackling  flames  burst 
through  its  wooden  walls,  and  communicated  to  the 
cloister,  so  that  it  was  with  great  diificiUty  that  the 
lives  of  the  nuns  were  saved.  The  trumpet  was  imme- 
diately sounded  through  the  camp,  to  rouse  the  soldiers 
from  their  sleep ;  and  Aguilar  was  seen  to  rush  among 
them,  scorchea,  and  in  wild  disorder.  He  had  sought 
in  vain  to  save  Juha  from  the  midst  of  the  flames  :  she 
had  disappeared.  In  a  short  time  tlie  whole  of  Isa- 
bella's camp  was  a  heap  of  ruins;  and  tlie  Moors,  taking 
advantage  of  the  tunmlt,  made  an  attack  on  the  Chi'is- 
tian  army.  But  the  Spaniai'ds  displayed  on  this  occasion 
a  valour  even  more  brilliant  than  usual;  and  when  the 
enemy  was  driven  back  within  their  entrenchments,  the 
Queen  Isabella,  assembling  her  chiefs,  gave  ordei-s  to 
build  a  town  on  the  spot  whicli  her  camp  had  occupied, 
thereby  announcing  to  the  floors  that  the  siege  would 
never  be  raised. 

During  the  building  of  this  town,  the  Moors  were 
continually  harassing  tlic  Spaniards,  and  many  bloody 
•onflicts  took  place,  in  which  the  valour  of  Aguilar  was 


108  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

parliciilai'ly  distingiiished.  Returning  one  day  from  a 
skirmish,  he  left  his  souadron  near  a  wood  of  mji-tles, 
and  continued  his  solitary  way  absorbed  in  thought. 
The  ima,ge  of  Julia  was  continually  before  his  eyes ; 
even  during;  the  combat  he  had  seemed  several  times  to 
hear  her  voice,  and  in  this  moment,  he  fancied  that  in 
the  far  distance  he  could  distingaiish  singular  sounds,  a 
mixture  as  it  were  of  Moorish  modulations  with  eccle- 
siastical chants.  While  straining"  his  ear  to  catch  these 
distant  sounds,  the  clang-  of  armour  echoed  near  him  : 
he  turned,  and  saw  a  Moorish  horseman  mounted  on  a 
lig'ht  Arab  horse  g-allop  rapidly  ])y,  while  at  the  same 
time  a  javelin  whizzed  past  his  ear.  He  rushed  after 
his  assailant;  but  a  second  javelin  pierced  the  chest  of 
his  horse,  who  reared  with  pain  and  rage,  and  threw 
his  rider  into  the  dust.  He  rose  quickly ;  but  the  Moor 
was  already  upon  him,  standing  in  his  stirrups,  and' 
with  his  scymitar  raised.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye, 
however,  Ag-uilar  was  on  his  feet ;  and,  straining  his  op- 
ponent in  his  arms,  threw  him  violently  on  the  gro\md, 
and  kneeling  on  his  breast,  pointed  his  poignard  at  his 
throat.  Ho  was  on  the  point  of  stabbing  him,  when  he 
heard  the  Moor  with  a  sigh  pronounce  the  name  of  Zu- 
lima. 

"  What  name  is  that,"  exclaimed  Aguilar,  "  that 
thou  darest  to  pronounce  in  my  presence  ?" 

"  Strike,  strike!"  said  the  Moor;  "strike  him  who 
has  vowed  tliy  death!  Learn,  Christian,  that  Ilichem 
is  the  last  of  the  race  of  Aliiamar,  and  that  it  was  he 
who  snatched  Zulima  from  thee.  I  am  the  l)eggar 
who  burnt  thy  church  on  jiurpose  to  carry  off  the  soid 
of  my  thoughts.  Strike,  then,  and  end  my  life,  since 
I  have  not  been  able  to  take  thine." 

"  Zulima  still  lives !"  exclaimed  Aguilar. 

"  She  lives,"  answered  the  ]\Ioor,  with  a  bitter 
laugh;  "but  your  idol  has  smitten  her  with  a  macic 
curse,  and  our  fairest  flower  has  withered  in  your  hands: 
her  melodious  voice  has  ceased  to  sound,  and  her  life 
is  I'cady  to  forsake  her  with  her  gift  of  song.     Strike 


ZULIMA,  THE  MOORISH  MAIDEN.  109 

then,  Christian,  for  you  have  ab-eady  bereft  me  of  more 
than  Hfe." 

Aguilar  rose  slowly.  "  Hichem,"  he  said,  "  Zuliraa 
was  my  prisoner  by  the  laws  of  war :  enbghtened  by 
Divine  grace,  she  has  forsaken  the  reli^on  of  Maho- 
met :  do  not  then  name  the  soul  of  thy  thoughts,  her 
who  is  become  my  lady,  or  prepare  to  meet  me  in  fair 
combat.     Resxime  thy  arms." 

Hichem  hastily  resumed  his  buckler  and  scymitar ; 
but,  instead  of  laishing-  upon  Aguilar,  he  set  spurs  to  his 
horse,  and  disappeared  with  the  swiftness  of  lightning-. 

After  a  time  the  Moors,  continually  repulsed  in 
their  sallies,  and  worn  by  famine,  found  themselves 
forced  to  capitulate,  and  to  open  their  gates  to  Ferdi- 
nand and  Isabella,  who  made  their  trium})hal  entry  into 
Grenada.  The  grand  mosque  was  blest  by  the  priests, 
and  converted  into  a  cathedral,  when  there  was  sung* 
a  solemn  Te  Deum  in  thanksgiving  to  tlie  God  of 
armies.  The  rage  and  fury  of  tlie  Moors  being  well 
known,  bands  of  soldiers  were  placed  in  all  the  neigh- 
bouring streets  to  protect  the  procession  ;  and  Aguilar, 
who  commanded  one  of  these  bands,  was  advancing  to- 
wards the  cathedral,  when  he  felt  himself  wounded  in 
the  left  shoulder  by  an  arrow.  At  the  same  moment, 
a  troop  of  Mooi-s  raslied  out  of  a  narrow  street,  and  at- 
tacked the  Cluistians  with  inconceiva])Ie  fury.  Hichem 
was  at  their  head ;  and  Aguilar,  immediately  recognis- 
ing him,  joined  in  fight  with  him  hand  to  hand,  and 
did  not  leave  him  till  he  had  plunged  liis  sword  deep  in 
his  heart.  After  this,  the  Spaniards  pursued  the  Moors 
into  a  large  stone  house,  whose  gates  opened  to  admit 
them,  and  then  reclosed  on  them  immediately ;  an 
instant  after,  a  cloud  of  arrows  from  tlie  windows  of 
this  house  woimdod  many  of  Aguilar's  soldiers,  and  he 
commanded  that  torches  slioukl  be  brought  and  the 
house  set  on  fire.  This  order  was  executed,  and  al- 
ready the  flames  were  mounting  even  to  the  roof,  wlien 
a  wonderful  voice  made  itself  heard  from  the  midst  of 


110  CATHOLIC  LEeENDS. 

the    burning    building,    chanting,   Sanctus,    sancttu 
sanctus  Dominvs  Deus  Sahaoth. 

"  Julia,  0  Julia !"  cried  Aguilar,  in  despair ;  and 
immediately  the  dooi's  were  flung  open,  and  Julia, 
dressed  as  a  Benedictine  nun,  came  forth,  still  singing 
Sanctus,  sanctus,  sanctus ;  while  behind  her  marched 
a  long  file  of  Moors,  their  heads  cast  down,  and  their 
hands  crossed  on  their  breast.  The  Spaniards  drew 
back  involuntarily;  and  Julia,  followed  by  the  Moors, 
advanced  through  their  ranks  to  the  cathedral,  on 
entering  which  she  intoned,  Benedictus  qui  venit  in 
Tioviine  Domini. 

The  people  fell  on  their  knees ;  and  Julia,  her  eyes 
turned  towards  heaven,  walked  with  a  firm  step  up  to 
the  high  altar,  where  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  were 
engaged  in  assisting  at  the  holy  function;  and  as  soon 
as  the  last  strophe.  Dona  nobis  pacem,  was  conclud- 
ed, fell  lifeless  into  the  arms  of  the  queen.  All  the 
Moors  who  had  followed  her  received  that  same  day 
the  holy  Sacrament  of  Baptism. 


THE  ABBEY  OF  EINSIEDELN.  Ill 

XVII. 

LEGEND  OF  THE  ABBEY  OF  EINSIEDELN 

(introduction.) 

It  is  now  some  years  ag-o  since  I  made  a  tour  on  foot 
throug-h  Switzpiland,  Having'  visited  Chamouny  and 
the  upper  district  of  Berne,  I  came  at  leng'th  to  the 
lesser  cantons.  There  the  deepened  soHtude  of  the  val- 
leys, the  more  g"ently  sloping-  Alps  stripped  of  their 
horrors  of  precipice  and  avalanche,  and  the  wood-g-irdled 
villages,  goiiltless  of  inns  and  tourists,  broug-ht  refresh- 
ment to  me  on  my  way.  I  stopped  some  days  at 
Lucerne ;  and  then  anxious  to  exhaust  every  thing-  re- 
markable in  these  parts,  I  began  to  think  of  goings 
towards  the  Grisons,  for  the  sake  of  the  new  scenery 
promised  by  their  mountains,  when  an  excursion  of  an 
altog'ether  different  nature  turaed  me  for  a  time  aside. 

In  my  walks  to  the  Righi,  to  Schwytz,  and  to  the 
fimereal  vale  of  Goldau,  I  had  freqixently  met  troops 
of  poor  folks,  their  bundles  on  their  backs,  as  if  they 
had  come  from  a  distance,  asking  neither  alms  nor 
employment,  but  with  a  calm  inditlerence  to  people  and 
things,  going"  on  their  way  in  companies,  telling  their 
beads  or  repeating  litanies,  kneeling  before  the  way- 
side crosses  which  guard  the  Catholic  cantons,  greeting 
travellers  as  they  went  with  a  friendly  bow  or  a  pious 
word,  and  invariably  answering  when  I  asked  them 
whither  they  were  bound,  "  For  Einsiedeln." 

On  referring  to  my  guide-book  I  found  Einsiedeln 
was  a  large  Abbey  of  BenetHctines,  celebrated  for  its 
church  and  as  a  place  of  pilgrimage.  Nothing  more 
was  necessary  to  excite  my  interest  warmly,  I  innnedi- 
ately  took  the  road  thither,  and  after  crossing  one  or 
two  mountains,  and  passing  a  large  town  made  up  oi 
inns  and  completely  behung  with  signs,  I  found  myself 
before  th(j  convent  of  our  Lady  of  Hermits. 


112  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

Situated  at  the  extremity  of  a  long  valley,  and 
shadowed  hy  mountains  covered  witli  firs,  the  buildings 
of  the  monastery,  which  nearly  a  century  ago  were  re- 
built after  a  conflagration,  present  an  imposing  mass, 
with  a  regular  and  majestic  faqade  ;  between  two  wings, 
inhabited  by  the  monks,  rises  the  church  with  its  two 
towers,  each  bearing  a  double  cross,  and  SQ^arated  by  a 
large  open  square  from  the  village,  which  is  dependent 
on  the  convent  for  its  origin  and  prosperity.  In  the 
centre  of  this  square  is  the  fountain  ot  Saint  Meinrad, 
crowned  by  a  beautiful  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
and  poiu-ing  from  twelve  ever-flowing*  jets  its  cool  pure 
water.  All  round  the  galleries  form  a  circle  of  shops, 
w^here  rosaries,  images,  and  medals  are  exposed  for 
sale.  Behind  the  fa(^ade  the  edifice  stretches  out  into 
wings,  which  conceal  the  court  and  gardens  of  the 
convent. 

On  entering  the  church  one  is  struck  by  the  rich- 
ness of  its  ornaments,  and  the  profusion  of  statues, 
frescoes,  and  paintings.  The  whole  history  of  Chris- 
tianity is  depicted  beneath  these  vaulted  roofs,  angels, 
saints,  the  mysteries,  and  the  life  of  Jesus,  from  Beth- 
lehem to  Calvary.  The  touching"  recollections  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testament  revive  here  under  the  brush  of 
the  painter  and  the  chisel  of  the  statuary.  The  choir 
and  the  sanctuary  are  mastei-pieces,  every  chapel  bears 
witness  to  the  miracles  of  its  patron,  and  every  altar 
rests  upon  the  ashes  of  a  saint. 

A  few  steps  witliin  the  entrance,  in  the  middle;  of 
the  nave,  rises  a^  little  dome,  sup])orted  on  ])illiu's  of 
black  marble.  The  bas-reliefs  wliich  ornament  it  are  all 
in  honour  of  the  Mother  of  Cod,  and  represent  lier  so- 
journ on  this  earth  and  her  Assumption  into  heaven. 
Beneath  this  dome,  an  altar  serves  as  pedestal  to  a  l)lack 
statue,  from  which  stream  golden  rays,  and  the  pale 
reflect icms  of  a  single  lamp  sliow  it  to  be  that  of  the 
Virgin  and  her  divine  Child.  The  stones  around  tin's 
little  chapel  are  more  deeply  worn  than  any  others,  fur 
it  is  hei"e  all  come  to  shed  their  tears  and  pour  forth 


THE  ABBKY  OF  EINSIEUELK.  113 

theii"  prayers ;  this  is  the  object  of  so  many  a  pilgrim- 
age ;  this  is  tlie  image  (as  we  shall  see  in  the  sequel) 
before  which  the  holy  Meim-ad  used  to  pray. 

When  for  the  fii-st  time  I  ascended  the  lofty  steps 
which  lead  to  the  church,  many  famihes  of  pilgi-ims  had 
just  an'ived.  Sinking  under  the  burden  of  heat  and 
fatigue,  they  hnd  nevertheless  passed  throug-h  the  village 
without  a  moment's  pause.  I  watched  them  stoop  to 
drink  at  the  sacred  fountain,  then  climb  the  steps  with 
slow  and  weary  feet,  and  go  to  cast  themselves  on  their 
knees  within  that  holy  chapel,  before  a  thought  of  rest 
or  food  came  near  them.  There  was  no  anxiety  about 
a  place  of  shelter  or  a  morsel  of  bread ;  the  fulfilment 
of  their  vow  seemed  to  be  all  tliat  occupied  their  hearts. 

I  knelt  amongst  the  ])ilgTims,  and  mingled  my  voice 
with  their  litanies ;  and  forgetful  for  a  moment  that  I 
was  a  traveller,  who  came  to  make  his  observations  on 
the  habits  of  another  people,  I  tliouglit  only  of  God  and 
of  the  absent  ones  at  home.  I  now  underetood  the  na- 
ture of  a  ])ilgriinage, — that  pious  custom  of  our  fore- 
fathei-s, — T  understood  its  promises  and  its  hopes, — the 
religious  feelings  it  must  insj)ire, — the  confidence  wliich 
sustains  one  tlirough  its  toils. 

It  seemed  as  if  a  new  source  of  consolation  was  re- 
vealed to  me  at  the  foot  of  this  altar,  as  if  a  protecting 
powt;r  was  discovered,  hitlserto  iui1;nown,  aguinst  tae 
evils  of  tlie  future, — a  refuge  to  which,  in  times  of  deso- 
lation, I  sliould  not  apj)eal  in  vain. 

While  thus  plunged  in  meditarion,  a  hymn  to  the 
lUes.ved  Virgin  re-echoed  througli  tlie  chiu-ch.  It  was 
>iing  by  fifty  pilgrims  from  tlie  nioi  ntains  uf  the  Tvrol ; 
tliey  had  but  just  arrived,  and  hastened  to  raise,  iu  clear 
lianuonions  voices,  a  liymn  in  l.ioiK.ur  of  tlie  thither  of 
Anti-els.  Tlie  next  day  they  were  to  r.'tura  to  their  lioine 
filh'd  with  blessings  from  the  Virgin  of  l']iMsi(  (l,>In. 
The  sole  object  of  this  long  and  f  itiguing  journev  liad 
been  to  kneel  at  tlie  foot  ot  her  sacred  image,  recite  the 
rosary,  and  pour  forth  a  canticle  of  praise.  The  shades 
uf  evening  revealed  but  dimly  the  bold,  manly  forms  of 
I 


1J4  CATHOLIC  LEOKNDS. 

the  Tyi"olese  hunters,  in  their  picturesque  costume,  and 
the  pious  devotion  of  the  women  and  children,  who,  in 
their  holy  faith  alone  could  have  found  the  strength 
sufficient  for  such  a  journey.  Some  old  men,  whose 
enfeebled  limbs  were  exhausted  by  the  efforts  they  had 
made,  blended  deep  sig^hs  with  these  pure  sonorous 
tones,  and  the  voice  of  more  than  one  mother,  who  had 
left  perhaps  her  child  langTiishing^  upon  a  bed  of  sick- 
ness, gave  more  plaintive  and  tender  melody  to  the 
hymn  of  joy.    As  for  me,  I  coiild  join  only  by  my  tears. 

The  next  day  I  begged  permission  to  see  the  ab- 
bey, which  being  granted,  a  Benedictine  showed  me, 
besides  the  cells,  a  fine  library,  with  several  ancient 
manuscripts,  a  collection  of  philosophical  instruments, 
and  one  of  mineralogical  specimens. 

He  also  told  me  the  history  of  the  abbey,  the  ravages 
it  had  endured  from  fire  and  revolutions,  and  how, 
rising  once  more  from  its  ashes,  it  now  beheld  the 
number  and  the  piety  of  its  pilgrims  year  by  year  in- 
crease. He  told  me  of  wonders  that  had  been  accom- 
phshed  in  this  spot  by  the  intercession  of  Mary,  and 
described  to  me  the  rule  of  the  Benedictines,  who 
divide  their  days  between  prayer,  study,  and  their  sa- 
cred ministry. 

It  was  thus  he  related  the  origin  of  the  abbey : 

Cfjc  EegentJ. 

In  the  ninth  century,  Meinrad,  the  son  of  Prince 
Berthold  of  Hohenzolleni,  in  Swabia,  allied  by  his 
illustrious  birth  to  tlie  noblest  families  in  Europe,  re- 
signed the  wealth  and  honours  to  whicli  he  was  entitled, 
and  entering  a  monastery,  became  a  Benedictine.  But 
even  here,  the  reverence  with  which  he  was  regarded 
for  the  sacrifice  he  had  made,  savoured  too  nearly  of 
human  respect  and  worldly  glory  to  leave  Meini-ad 
satisfied  with  his  choice.  He  resolved  to  become  a 
hermit;  and  building  secretly  with  his  own  hands  a 
little  hut  amongst  the  solitary  hollows  of  a  mountain 


THE  ABBEY  OF  EINSIEUELX.  110 

near  the  monastery,  lie  went  out  one  day,  as  if  for  a 
ramble,  and  took  \iu  his  abode  there.  This  mountain, 
named  Mount  Etzel,  sepai-ates  the  Lake  of  Zurich  from 
the  valley  of  Einsiedeln,  and  here,  for  seven  years,  dwelt 
Meinrad,  practising  all  the  austerities  the  most  rigid 
penance  could  suggest.  But  even  here  the  world  dis- 
covered his  retreat.  Crowds  of  anxious  penitents  sought 
out  the  holy  recluse  of  the  mountain,  and  wearing  into 
beaten  paths  its  hitherto  untrodden  tracks,  came  day 
by  day  to  beg  counsel,  or  consolation,  or  pardon  of 
their  sins  from  one  who  lived  so  near  to  God.  In  those 
days  it  was  the  custom  for  all  who  had  doubts  and 
difficulties  to  refer  themselves  with  unhesitating  con- 
fidence to  the  advice  of  solitaries  such  as  Meinmd. 
The  more,  certainly,  they  were  separated  from  tlie 
world,  the  more  surely  did  their  words  breathe  inspira- 
tion from  on  high.  Rich  and  poor,  labourers  and  noble- 
men, the  priest,  the  lord,  the  old  man  and  the  child, 
the  humble  monk  and  the  prince-bishop,  all  took  their 
way  to  the  hermit  Meinrad,  and  received  the  same 
cordial  welcome,  advice,  and  tender  consolation. 

But  often,  when  the  poor  man  went  home  to  his 
cottage  with  joy,  lightened  of  all  his  troubles,  the  rich 
one  returned  soirowfid  to  his  palace,  discpiet  in  his 
soul,  and  shame  upon  his  forehead.  I'or  Meinrad,  like 
a  true  servant  of  God,  spoke  faithfully  to  all,  fearing 
not  man,  and  determined  to  do  justice. 

However,  these  crowds  of  visitors  distracted  him 
sorely.  He  yearned  to  give  himself  wholly  to  prayer 
and  meditation ;  and  having  discovered  at  the  foot  of 
the  mountain  in  a  wilder  region  a  pine-forest,  so  thick 
and  lonelv  tliat  tlie  huntei-s  themselves  dreaded  to  ex- 
plore its  shades,  and  known  even  in  this  land  of  gloomy 
woods  as  the  ''  Dark  Forest,"  he  resolved  to  ily  tliither, 
and  hide  himself  securely.  Unknown  to  all,  he  etfected 
his  departure,  taking  witli  him  nothing  Itut  an  image  of 
the  Blessed  Vii-gin;  but  it  was  impossible  so  trans- 
cendent a  light  could  be  completely  buried  even  in 
tliese  forest  depths.     The  sad  and  the  repentant  fol- 


116  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

lowed  him  still.  Resisting*  no  more  the  evident  will  of 
God  concerning  him,  Meinrad  received  all  who  braved 
the  terrors  of  the  forest,  and  even  suffered  them  to 
build  him  a  cell  which  should  shelter  him  from  storms, 
and  a  simple  oratory,  where  he  could  set  up  the  holj 
image  of  the  Mother  of  Mercy.  To  her  feet,  where  he 
himself  knelt  almost  unceasingly,  Meinrad  brought  his 
penitents,  and  none  went  away  without  a  blessing.  Nor 
was  it  only  human  visitants  he  welcomed  there.  At 
midnight,  once,  a  relig'ious  from  the  convent  of  Reiche- 
nau,  who  occasionally  paid  the  hermit  a  visit,  followed 
him  at  a  distance  to  the  little  chapel,  whither  he  went 
to  say  the  evening  office,  when  suddenly  the  whole 
chapel  became  illuminated,  and  as  the  monk  drew  near, 
he  beheld  upon  the  altar-steps,  where  Meinrad  knelt,  a 
young  child  of  celestial  aspect,  who  recited  tlie  office 
with  him. 

Thirty-three  years  had  passed  away  since  Meinrad 
retired  from  the  world,  twenty-six  of  which  had  been 
passed  in  the  Dark  Forest,  when  two  raiseral)le  men 
came  one  day,  as  if  to  beg*  hospitality  from  the  holy 
hermit.  He  read  their  deadly  purpose  in  tlieir  souls, 
and  said  to  them :  "  You  should  have  come  a  little 
sooner,  that  you  might  have  assisted  at  my  Mass,  and 
prayed  the  saints  to  show  you  mercy  at  yoiu*  last  liour. 
You  shall  receive  my  blessing  and  forgiveness  before 
you  kill  me;  and  when  I  am  dead,  lig'ht,  I  clinrge  you, 
these  two  candles,  one  at  the  head  and  tlie  otlier  at  the 
foot  of  my  couch.  After  this,  ily  for  your  lives,  lest  you 
should  be  denounced  by  those  who  come  to  visit  me." 

Notwithstanding  this  address,  the  simple  piety  of 
which  would  have  been  sufficient  to  disarm  most  ruf- 
fians, the  hope  of  plunder  induced  these  wretches  to 
kill  the  hermit :  they  found  nothing,  however,  but  bis 
penitential  hair-shirt.  They  forgot  to  light  the  candles 
as  he  charged  them;  but  beheld  them,  says  the  Ger- 
man tradition,  miraculously  kindled  by  invisible  hands. 
Fleeing  in  terror  and  remorse,  they  escaped  unseen  by 
humnn  eve,  and  took  refnge  in  an  inn  at  Zurich.     But 


THE  ABBEY  OF  EINSIEDELN.  117 

Meim-ad  had  made  friends  with  the  birds  of  the  air; 
and  two  tame  crows^  with  whom  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  share  his  bread,  followed  the  murderers, 
crying  after  them,  and  striking  at  them  with  their 
beaks,  as  far  as  the  inn,  from  which  one  of  the  servants 
vainly  endeavoured  to  chase  them  away.  This  circum- 
stance attracted  the  attention  of  some  people  of  Wolrau, 
who  having  found  the  hermit  dead,  had  instantly  set 
forth  in  quest  of  the  assassins,  and  recognising  the  birds 
as  those  of  Meinrad,  felt  little  doubt  they  had  pursued 
the  guilty  men.  The  two  miserable  creatures,  when 
arrested,  confessed  their  crime  and  sufFerea  its  penalty; 
the  birds,  adds  the  tradition,  still  hovering  above  the 
scalTold.  The  inn  where  this  occurred  bears  to  this 
very  day  the  motto  of  "  The  two  faithful  Grows,"  and 
they  are  introduced  into  the  arms  of  the  abbey. 

Thus  died  the  holy  Meinrad,  January  21,  863 ;  but 
to  his  empty  cell  crowds  of  pilgrims  still  travelled. 
And  before  it  had  quite  crumbled  into  decay,  Bennon, 
or  Benoit,  a  royal  prince,  and  canon  of  Strasbourg, 
renouncing  all  his  worldly  wealth,  came  to  the  Dark 
Forest,  and  raised  around  the  hut  of  Meinrad  many 
little  wooden  cells,  wherein  he  and  other  holy  men 
might  dwell.  This  was  the  origin  of  the  abbey.  The 
forest  lost  its  solitude  and  gloom,  and  the  place  took  the 
name  of  "  Einsiedeln,"  which  has  been  rendered  into 
Latin  thus  by  chroniclers :  Ereimis,  erennis  Deipane, 
eremitarinn.  caniohhim. 

By  St.  Eberhard  these  humble  cells  were  after- 
wards improved  into  a  fine  monastery,  and  the  chapel 
became  a  magnificent  churcli.  Under  the  third  abbot, 
the  title  of  ''  Prince  of  the  Holy  Empire"  was  given 
for  ever  to  the  Abbot  of  Einsiedeln.  Princes  poiu-ed  in 
their  wealth,  and  the  sanctity  of  its  inmates  bestowed  a 
higher  dignity  upon  the  monastery.  It  became  the 
centre  of  intelligence,  activity,  and  labour  in  those 
parts,  the  school  for  young  nobles,  a  well-spring  of 
general  civilisation.* 

*  An  ancient  tradition  affirms  that  the  consecration  of  this 


118  CATHOLIC  LKQKNDS. 

Century  after  century  rolled  away,  and  still  the 
glory  of  Einsiedeln  did  but  increase.  Saints  and  learned 
men  came  and  went  witliin  its  walls,  and  countless 
communities  drew  from  its  sanctity  and  wisdom  the 
beginning'  of  their  strength. 

But  a  time  of  persecution  and  of  darkness  succeeded 
to  centuries  of  increasing  prosperity.  The  impiety  of 
a  French  army,  and  the  envy  of  an  imgrateful  populace, 
devastated  and  well  nigh  destroyed  this  sacred  edifice. 
An  attempt  was  even  made  to  carry  off  the  venerated 
Image  to  which  Meinrad  had  knelt  in  the  solitude  of 
the  JDark  Forest.  "But  the  pious  care  of  the  good 
monks  prevented  this  sacrilege;  and  whilst  a  similar 
one  was  taken  to  Paris,  the  true  relic  was  securely 
guarded,  and  now  once  more  adorns  the  restored  mo- 
nastery. 

Again,  the  praises  of  God  i-esound  where  first  the 
venerable  saint  upraised  his  holy  hands;  and  pilgrims 
still  throng  thither,  as  almost  a  thousand  years  ago 
they  crowded  to  the  recluse  of  the  mountain. 

church  was  perfoi'med  in  a  miraculous  manner  ;  and  this  is  the 
belief  of  no  less  a  person  than  St.  Chai-les  Borromeo.  Conrad 
Bishop  of  Constance,  Ulric  Bishop  of  Augsburg,  and  other  pre 
lates,  came  in  the  year  949  to  celebrate  the  rite  of  dedication  in 
the  usual  manner  ;  but  on  the  eve  of  the  day  appointed,  whilst 
Conrad  was  ]»raying-  at  midnight,  on  a  sudden  he  saw'  the  new 
sanctuary  lighted  up,  and  the  consecration  performed  by  angelic 
hands,  our  Lord  Himself  and  His  apostles  appearing  in  the  midst. 
In  the  morning  all  assembled  for  the  ceremony  ;  but  on  seeking 
out  Conrad,  tliey  were  informed  by  him  of  the  prodigy  \vhi(^h 
had  taken  place.  So  marvellous  did  the  circumstance  appear, 
that  the}'  at  first  treated  it  as  an  illusion,  and  were  about  to  pro- 
ceed to  the  dedication,  when  a  voice  was  thrice  heard  from  the 
sanctuary,  declaring  that  the  church  was  consecrated.  It  may 
be  added  that  several  other  churches  lay  claim  to-a  similar  pri- 
vilege :  among  others,  those  of  St.  Denis,  near  Paris,  and  the 
Cathedral  of  Rheims.  We  have  already  mentioned  the  testi- 
mony of  St.  Charles  Borromeo.  "We  may  also  add  a  bull  of  Pope 
Leo  VIII.,  to  the  same  effect  ;  and  the  following  sentence  of  the 
angelic  doctor  in  liis  "  Summa  :"  Qua'dam  tcmpla  dicimtur  arigelico 
iimiisterio  consecruta — "  Some  churches  are  said  to  have  been 
consecrated  by  the  ministry  of  angels." 


119 


XVIII. 


THE  MADONNA  BELLA  GROTTA,  NAPLES. 

Catholic  travellers,  who,  after  visiting-  the  shrine  of 
St,  Alphonso  at  Pagani,  and  the  ancient  Baptistery  of 
St.  Mary  Major's  at  Nocera,  go  on  to  the  shrines  of 
St.  Matthew  and  St.  Gregory  VIL  at  Salerno,  not  un- 
fi'equently  make  a  little  detour  fi'om  the  high  road,  as 
soon  as  they  have  passed  La  Cava,  that  they  may  visit 
the  famous  Benedictine  monastery  of  La  Trinita.  The 
road  by  which  the  ascent  to  this  monastery  is  generally 
made  passes  a  little  to  the  right  of  the  sanctuary  of 
Santa  Maria  della  Grotta,  and  hides  from  the  uncon- 
scious traveller  the  very  beautiful  scenery  which  is  so 
near  him ;  but  if  he  turned  aside  to  the  left,  soon  after 
having  passed  the  village  of  San  Cesareo,  two  minutes' 
walk  would  suffice  to  bring  him  to  the  edge  of  a  long- 
deep  narrow  and  precipitous  ravine,  clothed  with  wood 
down  to  the  brink  of  the  stream  which  rushes  along-  the 
bottom,  and  crowned  on  either  side  with  a  chapel  of  the 
Madonna.  At  present  there  is  a  very  safe,  and  commo- 
dious path,  leading  to  the  mill  which  is  a  little  farther 
up  the  valley,  and  a  bridge  whereby  we  may  cross  from 
one  side  to  the  other.  But  two  hundred  years  ago,  at 
which  time  our  history  begins,  this  path  was  neither 
safe  nor  convenient ;  it  had  a  very  bad  name,  and  was 
said  to  be  infested  by  evil  spirits.  One  day,  in  the 
year  1654,  as  a  certain  Don  Federigo,  a  priest  of  La 
Cava,  was  going-  along  by  this  way  to  St.  Pietro  a 
Dragonea,  one  of  the  hamlets  belonging  to  the  parish 
of  San  Cesareo,  he  had  an  encounter  with  some  of 
these  spirits,  just  at  the  mouth  of  one  of  those  grottoes 
or  natural  caverns  in  the  rock,  which  are  so  frequent  in 
that  neighbourhood,  and  from  whence  La  Cava  itself  is 


120  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

supposed  to  have  derived  its  name.  On  his  return 
home,  this  g-ood  priest  determined  to  place  so  dang-erous 
a  cavern  under  the  immediate  protection  of  the  Ma- 
donna; but  not  liaving-  sufficient  means  to  procure  a 
statue  or  painting-  for  this  purpose,  he  was  obhged  to 
content  himself  witli  fastening"  to  tlie  rock  a  little  print, 
which  he  happened  to  have,  representing  the  Blessed 
Virg-in,  with  the  Dove  and  the  Cherubim  over  her  head, 
holding'  the  child  Jesus  in  her  arms,  and  having  St. 
Paul,  the  first  hermit,  on  her  right  hand,  and  St.  Ono- 
fi-ius  on  her  left.  The  title  of  tliis  picture  was  the  Ad- 
vocate of  Sinners;  and  as  the  print  remained  there, 
uninjured  by  time  and  by  the  damp,  during'  a  period  of 
forty-eight  years,  the  cave  gradually  lost  its  old  name 
of  the  Grotta  (hi'  Sportiglioni  (or,  of  the  bats),  and  re- 
ceived in  its  stead  that  of  the  Avvocatclla. 

Doubtless  it  had  been  saluted  with  many  an  Ave 
by  the  devotion  of  the  passers-by  during  this  half  cen- 
tury; and  at  length,  in  the  year  1702,  Fra  Angiolo 
Maria  di  Majuri,  a  lay  brother  of  one  of  the  Franciscan 
convents  in  La  Cava,  remarkable  for  his  devotion  to 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  caused  a  copy  of  tlie  engraving  to 
be  executed  in  fresco,  in  a  little  niche  which  he  had 
prejjared  for  it  in  the  rock.  At  the  same  time  he  ex- 
horted the  neighbours  to  biu-n  a  lamp  before  it,  and 
frequently  repeated,  in  the  ])resence  of  the  parish  priests 
and  others,  that  tliat  grotto,  which  had  once  been  the 
abode  of  infernal  s])irits,  would  ere  long  become  the 
house  of  God,  and  that  tlie  Mother  of  God  would  dis- 
pense from  tlience  the  treasiu-es  of  her  power  and  good- 
ness with  a  most 'liberal  hand.  Of  course,  the  first 
part  of  this  prophecy,  so  to  call  it.  liad  a  natural  ten- 
dency to  bring  about  its  own  fulfilment.  One  of  the 
priests,  who  hnd  often  listened  to  Fra  Angiolo's  confi- 
dent assurances  on  this  subject,  caused  an  altnr  to  be 
raised  before  the  painting-,  a  lamp  to  be  kept  burning, 
and  the  litanies  and  other  devotional  exercises  to  be 
frerjuently  i-epeated  there. 

It  hapj)ened  on  Saturday,  the  19th  of  May,  in  the 


THE  MADONNA  BELLA  GROTTA.  121 

following  year,  that  as  a  poor  man,  named  Antonio 
Casaburi,  accompanied  by  liis  son,  a  boy  of  six  years 
old,  was  driving  along  this  path  a  donkey  laden  with 
com,  the  animal  went  too  near  the  edg-e  of  the  preci- 
pice and  rolled  over,  cairying  the  boy  along  with  him. 
The  depth  of  the  rock  in  this  place  was  about  120  feet, 
so  that  the  poor  father  expected  nothing  else  than  to 
see  his  son  dashed  to  pieces  at  the  bottom  5  neverthe- 
less, with  the  natural  instinct  of  a  Catholic,  he  called 
loudly  upon  Santa  Maria  dell'  Avvocata,  whose  shrine 
was  at  his  side,  to  assist  him  in  this  horn*  of  danger : 
and  when,  in  company  with  two  or  three  others,  who 
had  been  witnesses  of  the  accident,  or  whom  he  had 
called  from  the  mill  to  assist  him,  he  arrived  at  the  spot, 
he  found  the  animal  quietly  grazing-,  the  boy  busily  col- 
lecting the  scattered  grain,  and  both  perfectly  uninjured. 
The  fame  of  this  miracle,  which  was  attested  by 
three  competent  witnesses,  besides  the  father  and  the 
child  themselves,  drew  such  multitudes  of  persons  to 
the  grotto,  that  the  crowd  passing  to  and  fro  in  so 
narrow  a  place  became  quite  dangerous,  and  leave  was 
obtamed  li*om  the  proi)er  ecclesiastical  authorities  to 
erect  a  spacious  chapel  there.  The  building  was  car- 
ried on  briskly,  through  the  liberal  almsgiving  of  those 
who  came  to  ask  for  grazw  here,  and  but  few  of  whom 
were  "  sent  empty  away ;"  but  in  the  meanwhile  a  new 
bishop  had  been  appointed  to  the  see  of  Cava,  who 
determined  to  take  tliosc  precautions  enjoined  by  the 
Council  of  Trent,  and  to  inform  himself,  by  means  of  a 
congregation  of  theologians,  and  by  the  juridical  ex- 
amination of  witnesses,  of  the  exact  truth  of  the  mar- 
vellous reports  which  were  in  circulation.  The  painting- 
was  boarded  up,  and  all  access  to  it  forbidden  whilst 
this  examination  was  pending-;  but  it  soon  appeared 
that  the  jn'oofs  were  too  distinct  and  too  numerous  to 
admit  of  doubt;  nnd  after  fifteen  days  the  people  were 
once  more  gladdened  with  the  sight  of  their  Avcocata, 
and  the  episcopal  sanction  was  formerly  renewed  to  the 
xmdertaking  in  hand.     On  the  7th  of  September,  1704, 


122  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

the  first  mass  was  celebrated  in  the  new  church  by  one 
of  the  parish  priests,  a  man  whose  span  of  Hfe  had 
ah'eady  exceeded  "  the  tlireescore  years  and  ten,"  and 
who,  having'  himself  received  a  signal  grazia  at  the 
hands  of  this  Advocate,  consecrated  the  last  j^ears  of 
his  hfe  to  celebrating  her  glories,  and,  by  order  of  the 
bishop,  published  an  account  of  them. 

It  would  be  too  long  to  enumerate  or  even  make 
a  selection  from  them.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  every 
year,  as  the  principal  festa,  which  is  in  the  month  of 
May,  comes  romid,  persons  crowd  to  visit  the  sanc- 
tuary, not  onl}'  from  Nocera  and  Salerno,  but  also  from 
Castellamare,  Sorrento,  and  even  Naples  itself  j  and  at 
all  times  of  the  year,  simple  peasants  from  the  adjoin- 
ing- villages,  groups  of  women,  members  of  the  same 
family,  or  neighbours  in  the  same  village,  suffering 
under  some  common  affliction,  may  be  seen  wending 
theu-  way  through  the  chestnut-groves  of  La  Cava, 
with  bare  feet  and  dishevelled  hair,  alternately  telling 
their  beads  and  reciting  the  litanies  until  they  reach 
this  Church  of  the  Grotta  \  here  they  kneel  for  awhile 
to  repeat  their  devotions  in  the  presence  of  the  picture 
itself j  and  to  make  some  little  offering  of  flowers,  or 
oil,  or  candles,  after  which  they  retiu-n  to  their  homes, 
beaiing  with  them  some  portion  of  the  oil  from  the 
lamp  that  has  been  burning  before  the  shrine,  nothing 
doubting  that,  if  it  be  God's  will,  the  sick  will  receive 
the  same  benefits  from  the  application  of  this  oil  as, 
we  know  from  the  testimony  of  St.  Chrysostom,  the 
Christians  of  his  days  often  experienced  from  the  same 
remedy. 


123 


XIX. 


THE  MONKS  OF  LERINS. 

The  deep  silence  of  nig^lit  was  yet  unbroken  except  by 
the  rustling'  of  the  foliage  in  the  fresh  sea-breeze,  when 
the  bell  of  the  monastery  of  Lering  began  to  ring  for 
Matins,  and  its  sound  re-echoed  through  the  whole  of 
the  little  island.  At  the  holy  summons,  more  than  500 
monks  left  their  hard  pallets  to  meet  in  the  church, 
and  sing  the  praises  of  Him  to  whom  they  had  vowed 
their  lives,  and  of  His  blessed  Mother,  whose  assump- 
tion into  Heaven  they  were  about  that  day  to  celebrate. 
The  altars  were  lighted  up  with  a  thousand  waxen 
tapers,  and  the  whole  church  wreathed  with  green 
garlands,  mixed  with  flowers,  gathered  in  the  gardens 
of  the  monastery,  whose  brio-ht  colours  formed  a  plea- 
sant contrast  to  the  dark  habits  of  the  religious. 

Scarcely  had  the  bell  given  its  second  signal  before 
the  fatliei"s,  Avith  noiseless  steps,  had  gained  the  choir. 
One  alone  seemed  deaf  to  the  accustomed  summons : 
it  was  the  abbot,  who,  standing  at  the  window  of  his 
cell,  looked  out  into  the  pale  moonlight,  and  fixed  his 
eyes  with  melancholy  intentness  on  the  mainland  op- 
posite the  southern  coast  of  France,  as  if  he  sought  to 
discern  some  object  in  the  distance.  Sometimes,  too, 
he  seemed  straining  his  ear  as  if  to  catch  a  remote 
sound ;  but  all  was  still,  except  the  gentle  murmur  of 
the  waves  as  they  rippled  to  the  shore  of  his  own  island, 
or  broke  against  its  cliffs.  At  last,  I'ousing  himself 
from  his  mournful  reverie,  he  prostrated  himself  on  the 
ground,  and  with  clasped  hands,  and  eyes  raised  to 
heaven,  exclaimed  thrice,  "  Thy  holy  will  be  done,  0 
my  God !''  As  soon  as  he  had  pronounced  these  worddj^ 
his  countenance  resumed  its  accustomed  serenity;  and,'^ 
at  the  third  and  last  summons  of  the  bell,  he  rose,  and 


124  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

went  to  the  choir,  where  his  brethren  were  awaiting 
him  in  some  anxiety ;  for  their  abbot  was  ever  wont  to 
be  first,  not  last,  at  the  midnig-ht  office. 

As  soon  as  he  had  taken  his  place,  the  cantors  in- 
toned the  invitatory :  "  Oh,  come,  let  us  adore  the  King" 
of  king's,  whose  Virg-in  ]^I other  was  this  day  taken  up 
into  heaven  !"  and  all  the  relig-ious  repeated  in  chorus, 
"  Oh,  come,  let  us  adore  the  King-  of  king-s,  whose  Virgin 
Mother  was  this  day  taken  up  into  heaven !"  "  Oh, 
come,"  resumed  the  cantors,  ''  let  us  rejoice  before  the 
Lord  ;  let  us  praise  God  our  Saviour ;  let  us  come  into 
His  presence  with  song's  of  gladness,  and  sing-  hymns  to 
His  giory  !"  And  again  the  choir  repeated,  "  Oh,  come, 
let  us  adore  the  King  of  kings,  whose  Virgin  Mother 
was  this  day  taken  up  into  heaven  !" 

When  matins  were  ended,  the  abbot  robed  himself 
in  the  sacerdotal  vestments,  and  began  to  offer  the 
Holy  Sacrifice  of  the  Mass,  which  the  choir  accom- 
panied with  sacred  chants,  now  of  penitence,  and  now 
of  joy. 

One  by  one,  their  arms  crossed  on  their  breasts,  the 
religious  advanced  towards  the  altar,  to  place  themselves 
in  fitting  order  to  receive  the  Holy  Communion.  Then 
the  abbot,  holding  aloft  the  vessel  containing  the 
Sacred  Hosts,  tlms  addressed  his  children  :  "  My  well- 
beloved  brethren  in  Christ  .Jesus,  this  God  who  has 
already  given  His  blood  for  you  on  Calvary,  is  now 
going  to  give  you  Himself.  After  sucli  generosity,  can 
you  refuse  Him  any  thing  ?  Nay,  even  if  he  should  de- 
mand from  each  one  of  you  the  last  drop  of  your  blood, 
which  of  3'ou  would  dare  withhold  tlie  gift  ?  Which  of 
you  would  not  burn  to  exchange  this  perishable  life 
against  the  crown  of  immortality  ?  In  this  holy  soli- 
tude, you  have  learnt  to  renounce  not  only  things  ex- 
ternal to  yourselves,  but  even  those  very  selves ;  day 
by  day  you  have  been  lenrning  by  practice  how  to  sacri- 
♦  fice  yourselves  to  Him  wlio  has  just  sacrificed  Himself 
for  you.  Well,  my  dear  cliildren,  now  is  the  moment 
come  when  it  will  be  required  from  at  least  the  larger 


THE  MONKS  OF  LKRINS.  125 

number  among*  you  to  consummate  this  sacrifice ;  and 
the  holy  bread  you  are  about  to  receive  will  serve  as 
your  viaticum.  Be  of  g'ood  cheer,  my  children ;  the 
sun  which  is  now  about  to  rise  shall  never  set  for  you ; 
but  its  lig'ht  will  be  succeeded  bv  the  eternal  brig'htness 
of  the  Sun  of  Rig'hteousness.  Your  palms  are  ready, 
your  crowns  are  even  now  woven.  Before  the  bell  nmg' 
for  matins  this  nig'ht,  I  was  transported  in  spirit  into 
this  very  church.  You  were  all  here  with  me,  my 
children ;  and  the  guardian  angel  of  these  isles,  robed 
in  a  vestment  of  crimson,  but  his  brow  radiant  "with 
joy,  was  here  among"  us ;  and  I  saw  him  gnve  first  to 
me  and  then  to  another  a  branch  of  palm,  at  the  same 
time  crowning  your  brows  with  a  resplendent  g-arland. 
Some  few  only  were  left  out,  reserved,  no  doubt,  by  the 
providence  of  God,  for  further  conflicts.  You  already 
know,  my  brethren,  that  th^  Saracens  have  invaded 
Provence  ;  their  next  prey  will  be  this  island  of  oxu's ; 
be  strong"  then,  and  remember  that  they  can  only  reach 
your  bodies,  that  your  souls  are  treasured  up  for  eter- 
nity. But  let  none  among  you  be  self-confident,  and 
then  none  will  be  apostates.  To  suffer  for  a  moment, 
and  to  enjoy  for  ever,  such  is  your  blessed  destiny. 
The  God  whom  you  see  here  hidden  for  love  of  you, 
will  soon  manifest  Himself  to  you  in  all  the  brig'htness 
of  His  glory.  Come,  then,  unite  yourselves  to  Him ; 
and  love  shall  lighten  all  the  anguish  that  you  may  be 
called  upon  to  bear." 

Tbis  address,  so  far  from  saddening  the  hearts  of 
the  brethren,  only  made  their  festival  more  joyous; 
and  blissful  tears  stole  down  their  pale  cheeks.  Two 
and  two  they  came  forward  to  receive  Holy  Communion 
from  the  hands  of  their  abbot,  from  the  eldest  to  the 
3'oungest ;  and  the  Holy  Sacrifice  was  scarcely  com- 
pleted when  the  sun  appeared  above  the  horizon  ;  then 
they  sang-  Lauds  with  more  fervour  than  ever  before  ; 
and  then,  at  the  command  of  their  abbot,  they  set  them- 
selves to  meditate  on  the  Passion  of  Christ,  and  so  to 
nerve  their  souls  with  courtig-e  to  meet  the  coming- trial. 


126  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

At  the  same  time  the  abbot  offered  to  conduct  to  a 
place  of  safety  any  one  among-  them  who  feared  death, 
and  called  to  him  the  youngest  of  the  monks,  to  the 
number  of  thirty-six,  together  with  some  children  whom 
they  had  in  the  monastery  as  pensionei's,  and  placing 
them  on  board  two  barks,  he  sent  them  towards  the 
coast  of  Italy,  after  tenderly  embracing  them,  and  giv- 
ing them  his  last  benediction.  They  all  wept  bitterly, 
and  implored  permission  to  stay  and  die  with  the  rest ; 
but  religious  obedience  constrained  them,  and  they  de- 
parted, long  looking  back  with  regretful  eyes  to  their 
beloved  abode,  where  they  would  so  gladly  have  re- 
mained to  earn  the  martyr's  crown. 

Meanwhile,  the  monks  who  were  left  beliind  busied 
themselves  in  securing,  as  far  as  they  could,  against 
pillage  and  destruction  the  objects  they  considered  most 
valuable.  They  dug  })its  in  the  remotest  corners  of  the 
island  to  hide  the  sacred  vessels,  the  relics  of  the  saints, 
the  sacerdotal  vestments,  and  all  that  could  be  profaned 
by  the  barbarians.  After  this,  they  betook  themselves 
to  their  ordinary  occupations  on  festival  days  ;  some 
gave  themselves  to  their  books,  others  guided  their 
flocks  to  the  pasture-grounds,  and  others,  again,  in  the 
scriptorium,  went  on  with  the  works  they  had  beg'un 
copying.  No  one  seeing  them  thus  employed,  in  such 
perfect  peace  and  serenity,  could  have  supposed  that 
they  were  in  the  immediate  expectation  of  death. 

Soon,  however,  a  number  of  barks  were  discerned  in 
the  distance,  making  rapid  way  towards  the  island; 
and,  as  they  came  nearer,  there  resounded  from  them 
loud  cries  of  "  Death  to  the  Christians !"  while  at  the 
same  time  a  forest  of  Damascus  blades  glittered  in  the 
sun.  At  last  tliey  drew  to  land,  and  a  throng  of  Sara- 
cens, armed  to  tlie  teetli,  leapt  on  shore,  and  pressed  on 
towards  tlie  monastery. 

Tlie  religious,  as  we  have  said,  in  obedience  to  their 
abbot's  commands,  were  silently  engaged  in  their  re- 
spective occupations,  and  the  approacli  of  the  Saracens 
puly  shed  a  gleam  of  joy  over  their  countenances ;  tvvo 


THE  MONKS  OF  LERINS.  127 

of  them,  and  no  more,  named  Eleutherius  and  Colombo, 
overcome  with  fear,  fled  away  and  hid  themselves  in  a 
grotto  situated  in  the  midst  of  a  wood  which  skirted 
the  eastern  shore  of  the  island. 

The  Saracens  had  no  sooner  landed  than  they 
throng-ed  into  the  narrow  path  which  led  to  the  monas- 
tery, at  the  ^ate  of  which  knelt  the  abbot,  in  tranquil 
expectation,  holding-  the  cross  in  liis  hands,  and  praying 
to  the  Lord  to  g'ive  both  to  him  and  his  numerous  chil- 
dren streng"th  to  confess  His  holy  name  in  the  presence 
of  His  enemies,  and  to  suffer  the  extremity  of  pain  rather 
than  renoimce  the  faith. 

At  the  sight  of  the  humble  attitude  and  undisturbed 
serenity  of  the  holy  man,  the  floors  drew  back  aston- 
ished j  but  fiuy  in  a  few  moments  took  tlie  place  of 
amazement ;  they  seized  him  and  drag-g-ed  him  forcibly 
into  the  midst  of  the  cloister,  to  make  him  the  chief 
victim  of  their  rag'e  against  the  religion  of  Christ. 
Very  soon  they  had  spread  themselves  through  church 
and  corridors,  halls  and  gardens,  and  the  monks  were 
dragged  to  the  side  of  their  abbot,  and  there  guarded 
with  drawn  sabres,  while  the  work  of  devastation  was 
accomplished. 

Then  indeed  did  this  abode  of  silence  resound  with 
the  clang  of  arms,  with  cries  of  fury,  and  with  the  con- 
fiised  noise  of  destruction ;  for  every  thing  that  could 
not  conveniently  be  carried  off  was  broken, — seats, 
tables,  books,  crosses,  earthen  vessels,  were  tin-own  in 
heaps  out  of  the  windows ;  and  the  rage  of  the  invad- 
ers was  inflamed  by  finding  no  rich  booty, — nothing 
in  any  part  of  the  monastery  but  poverty  and  sim- 
plicity. 

At  last  the  chief  of  the  Saracens,  snatching  the 
cross  li'om  the  hands  of  the  abbot,  held  it  up  to  him, 
and  commanded  him  to  spit  on  it,  and  acknowledge 
Mahomet  on  pain  of  instant  death. 

"  Nay,  rather,"  answered  the  abbot  meekly,  "  g-ive 
me  that  holy  symbol,  that  I  may  cover  it  with  kisses, 
too  happy  to  die  for  Him  who  died  for  me." 


128  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

At  that  same  moment  the  raised  scymitar  fell,  and 
severed  his  head  from  liis  hody,  which  was  the  signal 
for  a  frig-htful  carnag-e ;  and  all  would  have  perished  in 
an  instant  if  the  chief  had  not  interposed,  commanded 
his  soldiers  to  sei)arate  the  young-  from  the  old,  that  if 
they  could  find  no  hooty,  they  nii^-ht  at  least  cany  off 
a  g'ood  number  of  slaves.  Immecliately  about  a  him- 
dred  of  the  younger  monks  were  put  aside,  and  nil  the 
others  massacred  before  their  eyes,  in  the  lioi)e  that 
they  might  thus  be  induced  by  ten-or  to  abjure  the 
more  readily  the  Christian  religion.  Then  the  chief 
thus  addressed  them : 

"  See,  now  you  are  free  from  those  old  watch-dogs 
who  giiarded  you ;  they  had  done  with  life,  whicli  has 
no  attractions  at  their  tige,  and  therefoi-e  they  despised 
it ;  but  yoiu"  brows  are  yet  unwrinkled,  now  is  your 
time  for  enjoyment,  and  I  offer  you  the  menus  of  at- 
taining it.  Kenoimce  the  religion  of  Christ,  and  em- 
brace tliat  of  Mahomet.  See  Moussa,  my  lieutenant, 
was  once  a  Christian  like  you,  and  I  swear  to  you  by 
the  Crescent  that  I  will  treat  you  as  I  have  treated 
him ;  and  now  I  give  you  your  choice  between  the 
turban  and  death." 

"  Death,  death  !"  they  all  cried  with  one  voice,  and 
immediately  beg'an  a  song  of  thanksgiving.  TJie  chief 
commanded  their  immediate  slaughter,  and  so  they  all 
ascended  together  to  claim  their  crown,  four  only  being* 
reserved,  wlioin  the  chief  ke[)t  back  for  slavery.  These 
were  of  lofty  stature,  and  so  beaufifiil  that  they  might 
have  been  taken  for  angels  rather  than  men. 

Meanwhile,  Eleutliei'ius  and  Colombo  remained  hid- 
den in  their  grotto,  iancying  every  moment  they  heard 
the  Saracens  approacliing,  wlien  suddenly  a  hrilliant 
light  shone  befoi'e  them,  and  a  delicious  melody  i-ung 
in  their  ears,  tokens,  as  they  could  not  doubt,  of  their 
brethren  having  won  at  that  moment  the  martyr's 
crown;  for,  lifting  tlieir  eyes,  they  saw,  though  the 
sun  was  now  high  in  heaven,  a  number  of  brilliant  stars 


THE  MONKS  OF  LERINS.  129 

disappearing  one  by  one  in  the  depths  of  the  sky.  Then 
Colombo  said  to  Eleutherius, 

"  Cowardly  soldiers  of  Christ  are  we,  who  have  fled 
before  the  enemy;  and,  therefore,  now  that  our  bre- 
thren have  reached  the  port,  we  are  stiU  here  below 
tossing  about  in  the  storm,  and  in  danger  of  shipwreck. 
The  thought  of  the  eternal  prize  nerves  my  heart  against 
the  teiTors  of  death ;  I  will  seek  the  Saracen ;  slavery 
or  martyrdom,  whichever  be  my  lot,  can  nothing  avail 
to  shake  my  faith :  I  will  go  and  try  to  bury  my  bre- 
thren; in  order  to  pay  them  this  last  duty,  I  ought  to 
risk  my  hfe." 

"My  brother,"  answered  Eleutherius,  "while  the 
Saracens  are  in  the  island  it  will  be  useless  to  think  of 
burying  oiw  brethren :  to  attempt  it  will  be  to  incur 
certain  death.  But,  however,  if  you  beheve  that  your 
inspiration  is  of  heaven,  follow  it,  and  the  Lord  will  be 
your  helper,  covering  you  with  brazen  armour,  so  that 
you  will  be  invincible;  but  for  myself,  I  am  vet  too 
weak  thus  to  present  myself  to  death  with  deliberate 
purpose.     The  holy  will  of  God  be  done." 

Accordingly,  after  giving  the  farewell  kiss,  Co- 
lombo left  the  gTotto,  and  made  his  way  through  the 
thickets  to  a  narrow  path  wliich  led  to  a  gate  of  the 
convent-garden.  He  expected  to  find  the  Saracens 
there,  and  tlierefore  armed  himself  by  prayer  before 
entering* ;  but  he  met  no  one,  though  threatening  cries 
warned  him  that  he  had  been  seen  from  the  windows 
of  the  monastery;  and  he  reached  the  cloister  without 
interru]}tion.  There  a  fearfid  sight  met  his  eye, — heaps 
of  dead  bodies,  I'ivulets  of  blood,  heads  separated  fi"om 
their  trunks,  limbs  scattered  about  here  and  there,  and 
in  the  midst,  fixed  on  a  pike,  the  head  of  the  venerable 
abbot.  At  tliis  sight  lie  threw  liimself  on  his  face 
sobbing;  but  one  blow  from  the  scymitar  of  a  Sai-acen 
sent  him  to  join  his  brotliren  in  heaven. 

How  long  and  sad  for  Eleutherius  was  the  night 
which  followed  this  day  of  slangliter !  All  was  pro- 
foundly still;   and  knowing  by  the   silence   that   the 


130  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

Saracens  must  have  departed,  he  left  his  grotto  in  the 
middle  of  the  nig-ht,  and  made  his  way  to  the  monastery. 
There,  thrilled  with  terror  and  grief,  he  stumbled  every 
moment  over  the  bodies  of  his  brethren ;  and  being 
unable  to  procure  any  thing  to  make  a  light,  was  con- 
strained to  endure  the  additional  horror  of  darkness  for 
several  hours,  which  he  spent  in  prayer,  kneeling  on 
the  sod  made  holy  by  the  blood  of  so  many  maitjTS, 
At  first,  his  soul  was  wrapt  in  sadness  at  the  thought 
that  he  alone  was  left  behind,  while  his  brethren  were 
in  glory;  but  afterwards,  he  felt  a  blessed  consolation 
in  knowing  that  they  were  all  interceding  in  his 
behalf. 

"  0  my  brethren !"  he  said  to  them,  "  I  fled,  it  is 
true,  before  the  face  of  the  enemy;  but  I  have  not 
denied  my  faith,  therefore  you  still  love  me — I  dare  to 
hope  it,  and  you  will  not  forget  in  heaven  him  who  is 
still  left  on  the  battle-field  exposed  to  the  darts  of  his 
foe.  The  remembrance  of  your  triumph  will  sustain 
my  faith,  strengthen  my  hope,  and  increase  the  fervour 
of  my  chanty." 

Thus  he  passed  the  night  in  tears  and  prayei';  and 
at  last  a  ray  of  joy  seemed  to  pierce  the  depths  of  his 
soul,  and  he  burst  fortli  invohmtarily  into  songs  of 
praise. 

■  His  next  thought  was  of  his  own  present  duty ;  and, 
after  some  reflection,  he  resolved  to  go  into  Italy  and 
seek  tlie  young  religious  whom  the  holy  abbot  had 
sent  tliither,  in  order  to  bring  them  back  and  re- 
establish the  monastery;  for  he  hoped  that  the  Saracens 
would  speedily  abandon  the  coasts  of  Provence.  He 
was  absorbed  in  these  thoughts,  when  lie  heard  the 
distant  step  of  a  man  slowly  advancing  by  the  cloister 
wall.  His  first  impulse  was  to  fly ;  but  he  remembered 
the  holy  ground  on  whicli  lie  stood,  and  determined 
not  to  be  again  guilty  of  cowardice.  "  Let  him  come," 
he  said  to  himself,  "Mussulman  tliough  he  be;  the 
blood  which  surrounds  me  shall  support  my  courage;" 
anrl   he  threw  himself  once  more  on  his  knees  to  seek 


THE  MONKS  OF  LERINS.  181 

for  strength  in  prayer.  Meanwhile,  the  step  grew 
more  and  more  distinct,  thoug'h  in  the  twilig'ht  he 
could  not  distino'uish  who  it  was  that  was  approaching" 
him ;  but  in  a  lew  moments  a  Moor  stood  beside  him, 
and  spoke. 

"  Fear  nothing,  my  brother,"  he  said,  "  I  am  no 
longer  thine  enemy.  I  was  once  a  Christian;  I  became 
a  renegade,  but  now  I  would  return  to  the  faith  of  my 
fathers.  Now  rise,  and  hear  my  story.  I  was  bora  at 
Tauroento,  a  hundred  miles  from  hence,  on  the  shores 
of  the  Mediterranean;  and  I  was  hardly  thirteen  when 
the  town  was  taken  and  sacked  by  the  Moors.  My 
father,  a  fervent  Christian  and  a  valiant  soldier,  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  the  population,  and  held  out 
during  a  sieg'e  of  several  months;  but  at  last  he  fell 
under  the  steel  of  the  Mussulman;  and  his  wife  Cecilia, 
my  mother,  I  saw  massacred  before  my  eyes  while 
kneeling  in  prayer;  and  I  myself,  seized  by  her  mur- 
derers, was  thrown,  with  a  gi-eat  number  of  companions 
in  misfortune,  into  a  vessel  bound  for  Africa;  there, 
exposed  in  the  market  like  a  beast  of  burden,  I  was 
sold  to  a  zealous  Mahometan.  For  two  years,  he  treated 
me,  if  not  with  kindness,  at  least  witliout  severity;  and 
though  several  times  he  proposed  to  me  to  change  my 
religion,  yet  on  my  refusing  he  left  me  in  peace.  But 
when  I  reached  the  age  of  sixteen,  he  attacked  me 
more  vigorously;  and  by  dint  sometimes  of  seducing 
promices,  sometimes  of  harsh  treatment,  he  succeeded 
in  overcoming  my  resistance." 

At  this  avowal  his  speech  was  interrupted  by  sobs, 
and  the  wasted  cheeks  of  the  monk  were  also  bathed 
in  tears. 

"  Alas !"  he  continued,  "  why  did  I  not  practise 
the  constancy  of  these  noble  martyrs,  and  sacrifice  my 
life  rather  than  my  faith!  At  the  moment  of  accepting 
the  turban  I  ceased  to  be  a  slave,  and  from  that  time 
began  to  live  what  is  called  a  life  of  pleasure,  but  with 
a  bitter  sorrow  in  the  depths  of  my  heart.     Some  time 


189  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

after  this,  Abdal  Malek  set  forth  from  Africa  with  an 
army  to  fig-ht  aj^ainst  Charles  IMartel,  who  had  defeated 
the  Mussulmans  at  Poitiers,  and  I  accompanied  him. 
From  this  time  I  have  added  crime  to  crime;  under 
the  name  of  Moussa,  T  have  led  the  Saracens  on  to  fire, 
to  murder,  and  to  pillag'e,  respecting-  neither  age  nor 
sex, — pillag"ing  clmrches,  devastating-  monasteries,  so 
that  my  crimes  rather  than  my  valour  have  raised  me 
to  the  rank  of  lieutenant  to  the  chief,  Boalkier,  0, 
holv  monk,"  he  continued,  throwing*  himself  at  the  feet 
of  £leutherius,  "  pray  for  me !  I  dare  not  m}-self  ad- 
dress my  prayers  to  heaven ;  it  would  he  deaf  to  my 
voice.  How  can  I  hope  pardon  from  a  God  whom  I 
have  so  outraged!" 

"  0  my  brother,"  replied  Eleuthenus,  "  the  mercy 
of  God  is  greater  tlian  even  your  crimes.  The  Divine 
ray  which  has  Just  pierced  the  darkness  of  your  lieart, 
has  no  doubt  been  obtained  ibr  you  by  the  prnvfi-s  of 
those  whose  blood  you  have  slied,  and  who,  imitating- 
their  Divine  Saviour,  have  prayed  for  their  murderere. 
Therefore,  let  hope  spring-  up  in  your  soid,  together 
with  repentance,  and  penance  sh-all  restore  peace  and 
felicity  to  your  heart." 

By  this  time  the  day  had  dawned,  and  they  both 
occupied  themselves  in  burying-  tlie  bodies  of  the  holy 
martyrs.  In  a  few  days,  Eleutlierius  set  otf  for  Italy, 
to  ])ring-  back  the  brethren  whom  the  abbot  had  sent 
there;  ])ut  the  bark'wliich  bore  them  liad  been  captured 
in  the  Gulf  of  Genoa  by  African  pirates,  who  had 
can-ied  them  into  Si)ain,  where  they  had  been  sold  as 
slaves. 

]Moussa,  the  c:)nvci  ted  renegade,  was  thus  left  sole 
g-uardian  of  Lerins.  He  laid  aside  his  ]Maliometan 
costume,  whicli  lie  l)uint  in  the  midst  of  the  garden, 
and  put  on  a  monk's  (h-ess,  which  lie  had  found  in  one 
of  the  cells.  From  tliat  time  he  devoted  hiinself  to 
works  of  ])cnance,  intending-  to  await  the  re-estal)lish- 
ment  of  the  monastery,  and  to  pass  therein  the  rest  of 


THE  MONKS  OF  LERINS.  138 

his  days  with  the  monks  whom  Eleutherius  had  g-one 
to  seek,  and  whom  he  hoped  one  day  to  see  retm*n  to 
the  convent. 

The  Saracens,  meanwile,  after  their  day  of  slaug-hter 
at  Lerins,  pm-sned  the  work  of  devastation  far  and 
near,  sacking"  and  burning*  towns,  villag'es,  and  churches. 
One  day,  after  the  destruction  of  a  churcli  in  which  the 
whole  population  of  a  \'illag'e  had  taken  refug-e,  and 
were  buried  under  its  ruins,  the  chief,  Boalkier,  re- 
marked, for  the  first  time,  the  absence  of  his  lieutenant, 
Moussa,  whom  he  had  not  seen  since  the  day  at  Lerins, 
and  inquired  for  liini  of  his  attendants;  but  none  could 
give  any  account  of  him,  for  he  had  not  communicated 
his  design  to  any;  so  that  the  chief,  becoming"  impa- 
tient, commissioned  two  of  his  soldiers  to  g"o  and  make 
inquiries  concerning"  him.  For  this  service  he  selected 
t\vo  renegades,  who,  knowing-  the  country,  were  best 
able  to  help  him  in  his  search.  They  were  both  robbers 
by  profession,  one  of  whom  had  escaped  from  the  public 
prisons,  and  the  other  was  pursued  by  justice  in  conse- 
quence of  a  murder  which  he  had  committed;  and 
both  had  joined  the  Saracens  in  order  to  shield  them- 
selves from  the  veng-eauce  of  the  law;  the  declaration 
of  apostasy  being*  to  them  a  mere  formula,  which  they 
pronounced  witliout  any  thoug-ht  or  conviction  one  way 
or  tlie  other.  After  taking-  counsel  together,  they 
ag-reed  to  explore  first  the  Isle  of  Lerins,  as  it  was 
there  that  tliey  had  last  seen  Moussa.  According-Iy, 
they  took  a  boat,  and  rowed  towards  the  monastery. 

As  they  aj)proached  the  island,  serious  reflections 
beg-an,  in  sjiite  of  tliemselves,  to  arise  in  their  minds, 
wlien  they  contrasted  the  savage  fury  of  the  Saracens, 
wliich  tliey  had  witnessed,  with  the  meek  endurance  of 
tlie  holy  monks ;  and  when  th(\v  landed  on  the  island, 
even  yet  reeking-  witli  the  blood  of  tlie  martyrs,  an 
emotion  to  which  they  liad  long"  been  strang-ers  stirred 
the  very  depths  of  tlieir  hearts,  so  long-  luirdened  by 
crime.  After  they  had  landed,  tliey  fastened  their  boat 
to  a  tree  in  silence,  and  ascended  tlie  narrow  path  lead- 


134  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

ing  to  the  cloister.  The  bodies  of  the  mai-tyrs  Avere  no 
longer  to  be  seen ;  but  in  a  recess  in  the  sanctuary  was 
a  monk  praying. 

"  Here  is  a  man,"  said  one,  "  who  has  had  a  nar- 
row escape;  what  are  we  to  do  with  him?"  The 
other  made  no  answer.  When  they  came  up  to  the 
monk,  they  saw  that  his  eyes  were  bathed  with  tears. 

"  Well,  brother,"  said  they,  "  you  seem  to  have 
had  a  visit  from  the  Saracens ;  and  you  must  think 
yourself  lucky  to  be  still  standing-  on  your  feet,  and 
with  your  head  on  your  shoulders.  It  is  one  of  these 
same  Saracens  that  we  are  seeking :  Moussa  is  his 
name.     Plave  you  met  with  liim  ?" 

"  Moussa !"  answered  the  seeming  monk  :  "  I  am  he; 
or  rather  I  am  he  who  once  bore  that  name.  Do  you 
not  recognise  me  I  Who  you  are,  I  know  well ;  and 
I  know  also  that  I  am  more  guilty  than  you,  because  I 
led  you  on  to  crime  by  word  and  by  example;  but 
since  the  goodness  of  God  gives  me  the  opportunity  of 
retrieving  my  sni  so  far  as  it  is  retrievable,  T  implore 
you  also  to  leave  tlie  ways  of  wickedness  ;  for  there  is 
yet  time  for  you  as  well  as  for  me.  His  mercy  is  infi- 
nite, as  I  am  experiencing;  but  His  wrath  will  indeed  be 
dreadful  if  you  continue  in  sin." 

The  two  renegades  looked  one  upon  anotlier  almost 
Btupified  with  astonishment.  They  iblt  as  tliougli  they 
were  dreaming,  and  dared  not  break  the  silence. 

"What  are  we  to  do?"  at  last  asked  one  of  them. 

"Wliat.''"  answered  Moussa;  "do  as  I  do  myself, 
weej)  and  pray,  and  l)ow  befon;  the  just  judgment  of 
Goff.  Unworthy  as  I  am,  I  have  taken  on  myself  tliis 
holy  habit :  if  you  too  would  wear  it,  we  may  be  com- 
panions in  penance,  as  we  have  hitherto  been  in  sin." 

"  ]iut  have  we  not  to  fear  the  anger  of  our  clii(;f  ? 
He  may  return  to  this  ])lace." 

"  Let  him  return,"  answered  Moussa  :  "  too  ha])py 
should  I  be  if  I  might  mingle  my  blood  with  that 
which  I  myself  shed  on  this  hoi}'  sod." 

After  a  moment's  hesitation  the  two  apostates  de- 


UUSEBIA  OF  MARSEILLES.  135 

termined  to  remain  in  the  island  with  Moussa;  and 
thus  did  the  blood  of  the  mart}TS  prove,  as  it  ever  has 
done,  the  "  seed  of  the  Church." 


XX. 

EUSEBIA  OF  MARSEILLES. 

Not  far  from  the  town  of  Marseilles  lies  a  smiling  val- 
ley, fertile  and  gTeen,  which  is  abundantly  watered  by 
the  river  Huii-^une :  it  is  a  spot  which  a  painter  would 
choose  as  his  study,  a  poet  as  his  theme, — a  spot  which 
seemed  consecrated  to  quiet  and  peace,  sepai-ated  by  its 
thick  surrounding"  woods  from  all  the  cares  and  turmoils 
of  the  outer  world. 

In  this  lovely  vale,  a  fitting-  habitation  for  those 
whose  vow  bound  them  to  a  life  of  holy  retirement, 
stood  a  venerable  convent,  which  had  been  established 
there  by  the  Deacon  John  Cassian.  To  this  abode  of 
peace  nocked  innocent  maidens  and  pious  widows  from 
lar  and  near ;  some  who  were  wearied  of  the  vanity  and 
trouble  of  the  world,  and  anxious  to  find  a  refugee  from 
it;  some  —  and  of  these  perhaps  were  the  gTeatest 
number — who  still  in  the  earliest  and  brightest  years 
of  life,  had  heard  the  voice  of  their  Red-eemer,  and  left 
all  to  ibllow  Him. 

Who  can  describe  the  happiness  of  their  convent  life  ! 
of  the  peaceful  days,  every  moment  of  which  was  pro- 
vided for  by  the  rules,  and  which  flew  by  so  quickly ! 
Who  can  describe  the  ])eace  of  soul  which  reigned 
through  all  the  Sisterhood,  in  which  love  of  God  and 
charity  for  each  other  had  created  one  heart,  and  obe- 
dience to  their  rule  and  their  superior  only  one  will ! 

The  superior  of  this  convent  at  the  time  when  the 
event  we  are  about  to  record  took  place,  was  a  noble 
maiden,  by  name  Eusebia,  well  worthy  to  bear  that 
name,  which  signifies  '^ pious.'   This  noble  virgin  was  one 


I'M  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

of  a  family  of  wealth  and  consideration ;  but  from  her 
tenderest  years  she  liad  turned  her  thouo-hts  fi-om 
earthly  rank  and  earthly  riches  to  a  heavenly  inherit- 
ance ;  and,  at  the  tender  ag-e  of  foiuteen,  she  bade 
adieu  to  the  honours  and  pleasures  of  the  world,  and, 
what  in  those  days  of  early  g-irlhood  must  have  been 
far  more  trying",  to  her  happy  home,  her  motlier's 
tender  care,  and  came  to  lay  her  rich  dowry,  her  rare 
beauty,  and  a  devoted  heart,  all,  without  reserve,  at  the 
feet  of  her  heavenly  Bridegroom.  Eusebia  had  ever 
been  the  pride  and  example  of  the  Sisterliood,  from  the 
days  of  her  fervent  novitiate  until  the  unanimous  vote  of 
the  community  Imd  elected  her  their  mother. 

About  this  time  frig'htful  tales  of  the  crimes  and 
outrages  committed  by  the  barbarous  Saracens  beg-an 
to  penetrate  the  deep  retirement  of  the  convent ;  but  it 
must  have  been  very  difficult,  while  their  quiet  life  went 
on  in  its  daily  routine  of  duties  and  recreations,  to  vk- 
alize  the  horrors  under  which  the  outer  world  was  gToan- 
ing'j  and  it  is  ])robable  that  no  personal  terrors  had 
disturbed  Eusebia's  Sisterhood,  until  suddenly  the  news 
fell  on  them  like  a  thunderbolt,  that  the  barbarians 
had  carried  theu*  ravages  to  the  very  gates  of  Mai*- 
seUles. 

The  terror  and  dismay  which  spread  amongst  the 
community  may  well  be  imaainecl.  If  it  were  only 
death  which  they  had  to  fear,  t'fiey  would  have  awaited 
their  murderers  with  calmness,  for  thougli  human  nature 
might  shrink  from  the  axe  and  tlic  scourge,  the  nu'mory 
of  an  Ag'nes,  a  Cecilia,  and  a  Catherine  would  liave 
nerved  the  weakest  among  them  to  endure  tlie  worst  j 
but  a  deeper  dread,  a  more  overpowering  horror  op- 
pressed the  sj)otless  spouses  of  Christ,  as  they  ])ictured 
themselves  in  the  unbridled  power  of  sucli  utter  bai'ba- 
rians.  Trembling  and  j)ale,  they  crowch.'d  rf)un(l  the 
altar  like  startled  doves,  and  nothing  was  beard  amongst 
them  but  groans  of  agony,  broken  supplications,  and 
heart-rending  sobs. 

Amidst   the   weeping,   trembling   crowd,   Eusebia 


KU8EBIA  OF  MARSEILLES.  137 

alone  retained  her  composure.  At  the  first  sound  of 
the  evil  tiding-s  she  had  soug'ht  the  foot  of  the  altar, 
and  there  she  knelt  now,  her  arms  crossed  on  her 
bosom,  her  eyes  fixed  earnestly  upon  the  crucifix,  and 
her  whole  form  immovable  as  a  statue.  Suddenly  she 
started  to  her  feet,  the  blood  mantled  to  her  forehead, 
and  her  eyes  beamed  like  those  of  one  who  had  received 
a  sudden  inspiration ;  but  in  a  moment  the  blush  faded 
from  her  cheek,  and  left  behind  it  an  ashy  paleness ;  she 
trembled  and  closed  lier  eyes  for  an  instant,  whilst  her 
lips  moved  in  inward  prayer,  then,  tm-ning'  to  her  Sis- 
terhood, she  spoke  in  a  firm  voice  :  "  Dear  children, 
follow  me :  our  Bridegroom  summons  us ;  trust  in 
Him  !"  As  she  spoke,  she  moved  throug-li  tlie  ranks 
of  nuns  towards  the  door.  Hushed  into  awe  and 
silence,  the  maidens  followed  her  as  she  walked  on 
towards  a  larg-e  cnicifix,  which  hung-  at  one  end  of  the 
cloisters;  down  on  her  knees  she  sank  before  it,  and  the 
nuns  followed  her  examj)le.  After  a  moment  of  earnest 
prayer,  Eusebia  rose  uj)  calmly,  and  pointing"  to  the 
crucifix,  she  said  : 

"  Sistei-s,  Ho  wbo^^e  iniage  you  see  before  you  feared 
neither  {)ain  nor  humiliation  Avhen  He  died  to  make 
amends  for  tlie  sonsunlity  of  His  creatures.  Look  on 
His  mangled  body;  there  is  no  beauty  there,  and  yet  it 
is  not  represented  as  it  really  was, —  our  eyes  could  not 
endure  the  sight.  Oh,  my  sisters,  what  have  we,  the 
followers  of  a  martyred,  a  tortured  God,  to  do  with 
beauty?  is  it  meet  that  we.  His  en  atures.  His  chosen, 
should  value  these  ])oor  features  iihove  the  crown  of 
virginity  which  we  have  vowed  ourselves  to  obtain? 
Courage,  my  children,  let  us  save  ourselves  from  out- 
rage; let  us,  at  least,  enter  pure  into  the  ])i-esence  of 
of  our  BridegToom,  however  hard  the  trial,  however 
tliorny  the  road !  Let  those  who  feel  as  I  do  follow 
my  example."  And  with  these  words  she  raised  a 
knife,  and  with  an  unshaking  hand  severed  her  nose 
and  ears,  and  covered  her  face  with  hideous  wounds. 
There  was  a  moment's  pause ;  for  a  moment,  perhaps, 


138  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

coumg-e  may  have  wavered,  and  hearts  beat  faintly ; 
but  if  so,  the  womanly  terror  was  quickly  vanquished, 
every  hand  was  stretched  towards  the  saving*  weapon ; 
every  nun  followed  the  example  of  their  heroic  leader; 
and  when,  some  hours  later,  the  Saracens  invaded  the 
convent,  instead  of  the  lovely  bevy  of  maidens  whom 
-they  had  hoped  would  bring'  so  hig'n  a  price  in  the  slave 
market,  they  found  only  a  g-roup  of  g-hastly  and  bleed- 
ing images,  who  could  inspire  nothing  but  horror. 
Furious  at  being  thus  defeated  in  their  end,  the  bar- 
barians fell  on  their  now  resistless  victims,  and  the 
noble  troop  of  Chi'istian  heroines  passed  unspotted  to 
their  crown. 


XXI. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  PLACIDUS. 

During  the  reign  of  the  Emperor  Trajan,  a  man  of 
great  and  distinguished  virtue  and  renown,  named  Pla- 
cidus,  led  the  Roman  armies  victoriously  against  their 
Parthian  foes.  Possessing  the  gi-atefid  confidence  of 
his  royal  master,  Placidus,  in  his  public  character,  was 
honoured  and  esteemed;  whilst  rich  in  the  gentler  vir- 
tues of  domestic  life,  he  was  dear  to  all  wlio  mingled 
with  him  in  private  relationship. 

He  had  a  wife  named  Ti-ojana,  and  two  young  sons, 
with  wlioiu,  when  a  return  of  \)('nce  ennbled  him  to 
leave  the  anny,  he  retired  to  a  countiy-house  at  some 
little  distance  ti-om  liome. 

There,  in  the  enjoyment  of  boundless  wealtli  and 
uxury,  Placidus  lived  content.  His  home  contained  all 
vhatwas  necessary  to  fill  up  his  measure  of  happiness, — 
riches,  honour,  earthly  love;  what  moi-e  could  be  de- 
sired to  satisfy  a  heathen  soul'/  And  Placidus  was  a 
heathen;  not  one  of  those  joining  inveterately  in  the  cry 
of  persecution,  which,  even  in  the  days  of  Trsijan  the 
Merciful,  arose  ^-oni  time  to  time  against  the  infant 


THE  LEGEND  OF  PLACIDUS.  139 

Churcli  of  Christ;  nay,  from  his  natural  benevolenoa, 
Placidus  would  have  deprecated  any  act  of  violence 
against  the  Christians,  just  because  thev  were  poor  and 
unprotected;  but  still  he  was  a  heathen,  and  shared 
ax-^owedlv  in  the  universal  feeling  of  contempt  with 
which  the  immediate  successoi's  of  the  Apostles  and 
their  scattered  followers  were  regarded.  Who  can  tell, 
however,  whether  amidst  his  xinivei-sal  charities,  some 
cup  of  cold  water  to  a  stray  disciple,  may  not  have  been 
poured  forth  from  a  motive  acceptable  to  the  Searcher 
of  heiu-ts;  or  whether  a  fervent  prayer,  uttered  in  a 
moment  of  thankfulness  by  some  Christian  rescued  fi-om 
destniction,  may  have  brought  down  upon  Placidus  the 
uierciful  regard  of  God  ?  Who  shall  attempt  to  limit 
His  grace,  or  ascribe  motives  to  His  providence  ?  Suf- 
fice it  that  a  wonderful  hour  was  at  hand  for  Placidus, 
which  is  thus  recorded  by  ancient  chroniclei'S. 

He  had  a  passion  for  the  chase,  and  attended  by 
numerous  retainei-s  and  friends  was  accustomed  to  spend 
much  of  his  time  in  the  forests ;  finding  in  piu-suit  of 
stags  and  other  game  a  recreation  particularly  accep- 
table to  one  so  long  accustomed  to  tlie  activity  of  ser- 
vice in  the  field  of  battle. 

One  day  that  Placidus  and  all  his  gallant  company 
rode  out  as  usual  to  the  chase,  a  hei-d  of  deer  was 
started ;  and  dogs  and  horses  bounded  forwanls  gladly 
m  pui-suit.  One  stag,  larger  and  fleeter  tlian  tlie  rest, 
attracted  Placidus.  Ho  observed  it  sej):ii':ite  from  the 
herd ;  and  it  irresistibly  drf!W  him  from  liis  companv. 
Tlinj  followed  the  flying  herd  f;ir  away  into  the  depths 
of  the  forest:  wliilst  lie,  with  an  impetuosity  that  had 
even  to  himself  something  supornatursil  in  it,  tracked, 
closely  as  liis  jianting  horse  could  bear  him,  the  foot- 
steps of  tlie  majestic  stag.  Sometimes  in  one  directinn, 
sometimes  in  another,  up  steep  ascents,  and  through 
precipitous  and  narrow  thorny  ways,  it  led  him  on. 
For  a  moment  he  seemed  about  to  capture  it;  but  again 
it  was  l>eyond  his  reach.  On  and  on  he  went,  forgetful 
of  the  time,  the  distance,  the  closing  hour  of  the  day 


140  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

He  saw  nothing  but  the  stag ;  he  must  gain  it  at  last. 
Suddenly  they  had  passed  the  thicket,  and  a  bare  hill 
was  before  them.  The  stag  boimded  to  its  summit,  and 
turning,  faced  the  astonished  Placidus.  Motionless  it 
stood;  and  between  its  brandling  antlere,  dimly  dis- 
ceraed  against  the  evening  sky,  arose  a  cross,  encircled 
by  a  ring  of  lig'ht,  piercing  and  dazzling,  as  no  ray  of 
sun  or  moon  could  kindle. 

A  voice  of  infinite  tenderness  then  called  him  by  his 
name.  Touched  in  that  moment  to  the  very  soul,  Pla- 
cidus sank  upon  his  knees,  and  exclaimed,  "  Who  art 
thou,  Lord  ?"  "  Why  persecutest  thou  Me,  Placidus  f 
the  voice  replied.  "  I  am  the  God  thou  ignorantly  \vor- 
shippest;  Jesus,  thy  Lord.  Thine  alms  and  jirayers 
have  ^one  up  before  Me,  and  therefore  am  I  come.  As 
thou  dost  hunt  this  stag,  so  henceforward  will  I  hunt 
thee."  "TeU  me  Thy  will,  0  Lord,"  cried  Placidus, 
"that  I  may  believe  and  perform  it."  The  voice  re- 
plied, "  I  am  the  Son  of  the  living  God.  I  created 
heaven  and  earth,  and  divided  the  light  from  the  dark- 
ness. I  appointed  days,  and  seasons,  and  years.  I 
formed  man  out  of  the  dust  of  the  ground ;  and  for  his 
sake  took  upon  Me  his  own  form.  Crucified  and  buried. 
on  the  third  day  I  arose  again.  "This  I  believe,  0 
Lord,"  replied  Placidus  ;  "  yea,  and  that  thou  art  He 
who  bringest  back  sinners  to  tlie  way  of  ])eace."  "If 
thou  believest,"  returned  the  voice,  "  go  into  tlie  city  and 
be  bajrtised.  And  return  liitbei'  to-morrow,  tliat  thou 
mayest  know  of  thy  future  life."  Long  wn\)t  in  silent 
awe,  Placidus  remained  upon  tliat  ballowed  spot.  Tlien, 
lighted  by  the  moon,  noAv  liigh  in  tlie  heavens,  be  \mv- 
sued  his  way  to  the  city,  wliich  he  discerned  at  no  great 
distance. 

In  those  days  of  secret  adherence  to  the  faith  of 
Ciirist,  when  a  moment's  delay  might  risk  alike  tlie  con- 
version or  the  life  of  an  ajiplicant,  no  hour  was  too  late 
for  gaining  admittance  to  the  Christinn  bisliop;  and  Pla- 
cidus was"  tlierefore  immediately  ushered  into  his  jire- 
sence.     Having-  related  bis  wonderful  adventure  to  the 


THE  LEGEND  OF  PLACIDUS.  141 

venerable  man,  and  repeated  his  profession  of  faith,  he 
was  baptised  by  the  name  of  Eustace;  and  returned 
before  aaybreak  to  the  scene  of  his  miraculous  conver- 
sion. Then  kneeling*  in  prayer,  he  awaited  the  message 
of  the  mysterious  voice.  And  thus  it  spoke  to  him : 
"  Blessed  art  tliou,  Eustace,  in  that  thou  hast  been 
washed  with  the  laver  of  My  grace,  and  thereby  over- 
come the  devil.  Now  hast  thou  trodden  him  to  dust, 
who  beg^iiled  thee.  Now  will  thy  fidelity  be  shown ; 
for  he  whom  thou  hast  forsaken  will  rage  continually 
against  thee.  Many  things  must  thou  undergo  for  My 
sake.  Thou  must  become  another  Job ;  fear  not,  perse- 
vere ;  My  grace  is  sufficient  for  thee.  In  the  end  thou 
shalt  conquer ;  choose,  then,  whether  thou  wilt  expe- 
rience thy  trials  in  thine  old  age,  or  forthwith. " 

And  Eustace,  with  his  new-boi-n  self-disti-ust,  re- 
plied, "Even  as  Thou  wiliest,  Lord;  yet,  if  it  may  be 
so,  try  me  now,  and  help  me  m  my  trial."  "  Be  bold, 
Eustace,"  spake  the  voice,  for  the  last  time.  "  Be  bold; 
My  grace  can  bear  thee  up."  Tlie  wife  and  sons  of 
Eustace,  on  hearing  from  his  lips  the  wonderful  things 
which  had  befallen  him,  were  ready  on  the  instant  to 
believe  in  the  Saviour  who  had  manifested  Himself  so 
mysteriously,  and  were  baptised  that  very  day  by  the 
names  of  Theosbyta,  Theosbytus,  and  Agapetus. 

But  a  very  short  time  passed  by  before  Eustace  be- 
came conscious  of  an  extraordinary  change  in  all  his 
worldly  prospects;  and  had  not  his  faith  risen  tiium- 
phantly  over  all  his  pagan  superstitions,  he  might  have 
thouglit  himself  persecuted  by  the  gods  ofiiis  former 
worship  for  having  treacherously  abandoned  thorn.  But, 
enlightened  by  Divine  wisdom,  Eustace  recognised  with 
joy  that  his  portion  was  no  longer  in  this  world ;  and 
that  it  was  tlirough  a  narrow  way,  imincumbered  and 
single-hearted,  that  he  was  to  follow  his  heavenly 
Guide. 

One  by  one  his  treasures  dropped  away.  Disease 
consumed  his  flocks  and  herds;  his  servants  and  retainei-s 
became  faithless;  friends  looked  coldly  upon  him.     His 


142  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

house  was  plundered  and  destroyed ;  his  possessiDns  ra- 
vao-ed;  he  and  his  family  gTanually  became  destitute 
and  homeless.  In  this  state  he  resolved,  for  the  sake 
of  his  family,  to  apply  to  Trajan;  but  the  news  of  his 
conversion  had  already  gone  abroad,  and  even  the  em- 
peror forg-ot  his  heavy  obligations,  and  slumned  his 
faithfiil  servant. 

Eustace  then  resolved  on  leaving  his  native  land, 
and  seeking"  in  some  distant  country  a  new  home,  where 
he  might  peaceably  bring  up  his  children  in  the  true 
faith.  Journeying  in  this  spirit  to  the  sea-shore,  he 
found  a  vessel  about  to  embark,  and  entreated  to  be  re- 
ceived amongst  the  passengers.  From  his  appearance, 
the  captain  was  about  hastily  to  refuse,  convinced  that 
he  had  no  means  of  paying  for  the  voyage ;  but  on  per- 
ceiving the  beauty  of  Theosbyta,  his  wife,  a  diabolical 
scheme  entered  his  mind;  he  consented,  and  the  Chris- 
tian fiimily  set  sail  from  Italy.  No  sooner  had  tliey 
reached  Africa  than  the  captain  demanded  payment ;  in 
vain  Eustace  pleaded  his  having-  been  taken  on  board 
out  of  charity ;  the  captain  was  resolute  in  pressing  his 
claim ;  and  on  being  assured  by  Eustace  that  he  Imd 
nothing  Avberewith  to  satisfy  it,  he  immediately  seized 
Theosbyta,  declaring  he  would  sell  her  as  a  slave.  Re- 
monstrances and  tears  were  vain;  and  lest  the  boys  also 
should  attract  tlie  cupidity  of  the  heartless  Roman, 
Eustace  was  compelled  to  land  with  them,  and  leave 
his  beloved  Theosbyta  in  liis  power.  Slie  herself  even 
urged  him  to  save  himself  and  the  cliildren ;  willing 
herself  to  endure  whatevfjr  trials  mig'lit  be  appointed 
for  her,  so  tliat  tliey  were  spared. 

So  parted  Eustace  and  his  wife.  His  cliildren  now 
were  all  remaining  to  him  in  this  world,  once  a  trea- 
sure-house of  joys.  '  Silent  and  musing  on  the  mysteri- 
ous ways  of  God,  but  still  without  a  murmur,  Eustace, 
clasping  the  hands  of  his  children  on  each  side,  walked 
forward  through  the  desert  country  wherein  he  fjund 
himself.  He  had  no  longer  an  object  consciously  be- 
fore him;  and  for  miles  he  still  went  on,  until  (he  fail- 


THE  LEGEND  OF  PLACID  US.  148 

ing  footsteps  of  his  youno:  companions  recalled  his 
attention  to  their  wants.  He  must  now  be  father  and 
mother  both:  where  could  he  find  food  and  shelter  for 
them  in  the  wilderness  ?  They  were  now  at  the  biink 
of  a  wide  river,  and  on  the  other  side  Eustace  perceived 
a  group  of  trees  which  promised  botli  noin-ishment  and 
shade.  Unable  to  swim  with  both  t  lie  children  at  once 
he  first  crossed  the  stream  with  Theosbytus,  and  placed 
him  in  safety  on  the  other  side ;  retui-ning"  for  Ag'apetus, 
what  was  the  hon-or  of  the  father,  midway  in  the  river, 
to  hear  despairing-  cries  for  help  from  both  his  sons  at 
once,  A  lion  had  already  seized  Theosbytus,  and  the 
childish  feet  of  Ag'apetus  g'ave  way  beneath  liim  as  ho 
tni-ned  to  rush  from  an  enormous  wolf  which  sprung 
out  of  some  bushes  by  the  river  side.  By  the  time 
Eustace  had  strug-g-led  to  the  nearest  shore  both  child- 
ren had  been  earned  out  of  sig-ht.  "  Be  it  so,  0  my 
God  !"  cried  Eustace,  fling-ing*  himself  face  downwaras 
on  the  g"round.  "  Thy  will  be  done;  henceforward  I 
am  alone  with  thee !"  And  there  for  hours  in  silence 
and  in  prayer  he  lay  immovable,  and  the  sun  scorched 
his  uncovered  head,  and  the  cold  dews  of  evening  fell 
upon  his  exhausted  limbs,  and  he  was  unconscious  of 
all,  except  the  presence  of  an  unseen  angel  that  came 
and  comforted  him.  When  human  nature  had  wept 
its  full,  and  divine  consolations  had  strengthened  and 
cleared  his  mind,  Eustace  arose  once  more,  and  jour- 
neyed on. 

That  nig'lit,  on  lying  down  to  sleep  desolate  and 
homeless  on  the  bare  ground,  a  vision  sent  by  God 
came  like  bnlm  into  his  tortured  heart.  He  seemed  to 
see  his  children  sporting  with  the  ferocious  beasts  that 
had  torn  them  from  hi>  side.  Suddenly  the  scene 
changed,  grown  into  young  men  uiul  weai-ing  the  dress 
of  soldiers,  noble  and  in  angel  beauty  they  stood  before 
him,  their  mother  beautiful  and  calm  drew  near, — all 
were  restored  to  him  in  that  blessed  moment ;  and 
when  the  vie:inn  had  faded  from  before  him,  and  the 
melancholy  cry  of  the  night-birds  hovering  above  In'm, 


144  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

recalled  Eustace  to  a  sense  of  his  bereavement,  he  still 
felt  that  tender  comfoi-t  ling-ering-  in  his  mind, — he  felt 
that  he  should  yet  meet  with  liis  beloved  ones  again  in 
the  land  beyond  the  grave. 

To  find  Theosbyta  was  the  first  object  the  retui-n- 
ing'  faculties  of  Eustace  entertained,  when  the  sort  of 
stupefaction  which  had  followed  his  lata  trials  began  to 
subside;  and  every  effort  a  man  so  ])!)or  and  destitute  of 
friends  could  make,  he  tried  for  long,  but  constantly 
without  success.  Hopeless  at  last,  he  committed  the 
future  to  God,  and  settled  himself  down  as  the  hired 
servant  of  a  humble  peasant.  Here,  a  patient  labourer, 
he  toiled  for  years ;  never  was  a  word  of  impatience  or 
regret  heard  to  fall  from  the  lips  of  the  once  princely 
Eustace ;  he  remembered  the  days  of  his  former  mag- 
nificence and  luxury,  but  it  was  only  to  bow  himself 
more  willingly  beneath  the  hand  of  God.  "  Tliou  doest 
all  things  well !"  he  whispered  in  his  heart,  and  hum- 
bled himself  literally  to  the  dust.  So  fifteen  years 
passed  away ;  none  knew  the  story  of  the  silent  and 
obedient  labourer ;  he  was  more  unwearied  at  his  tasks, 
more  f!:iithful  to  his  trust,  more  forgetfvd  of  himself 
than  others;  no  one  knew  more  than  this;  he  never 
spoke  but  of  necessity,  and  then  never  of  himself. 

In  fifteen  years  his  master  died,  and  appreciating 
the  patient  fidelity  of  Eustace,  ])equeathcd  to  him  the 
hiniible  cottage  where  he  had  served  him  so  long ;  here 
then  he  still  dwelt  on,  without  a  wish  to  cliange  his 
life.  Meantime  peace  no  longer  reigiiod  in  liome,  ene- 
mies were  at  her  very  gates.  Trajan  vainly  thought 
iipon  the  noble  Placidus,  wlio  had  ruled  his  armies  with 
so  powerful  a  spell,  and  led  them  on  to  victory  with  a 
resistless  arm.  Where  was  the  general  who  liad  been 
so  honoured  and  exalted  in  the  moment  of  triumph,  so 
carelessly  discarded  at  a  leisure  hour  ?  Oh,  that  Placidus 
were  at  Rome  once  more !  An  emperor's  wishes  are 
readily  divined,  more  readily  accomplished.  Tliere 
were  few  who  would  not  gladly  have  undertaken  to 
restore  the  forgotten  Placidus  had  it  but  been  possible. 


THE  LEGEND  OF  PLACIDUS.  145 

He  was  above  their  envy,  he  had  been  trusted,  and  was 
now  wanted  by  all.  Where  could  he  have  hidden  him- 
self? Sevei-al  anxious  to  please  the  emperor,  some 
trembling-  for  the  fate  of  their  country,  and  a  few  from 
affectionate  remembrance  of  the  long-lost  Placidus,  im- 
mediately set  forth  in  search  of  the  absent  commander ; 
but  there  was  no  clue  to  his  retreat ;  none  knew  when, 
or  why,  or  how  he  had  departed ;  and  disappointment 
met  the  expectant  emperor  as  party  after  party  re- 
tui'ned  desponding  from  their  unsuccessful  search. 

At  length  two  former  comrades  of  the  hero,  pushing 
in  their  generous  zeal  beyond  the  others,  amved  one 
day,  footsore  and  weary,  before  the  cottage-door  of  Eus- 
tace, who  hospitably  bade  them  welcome,  and  hastened 
to  offer  them  refreshment.  Their  uniform  was  a  pass- 
port to  his  heart ;  it  was  fifteen  years  since  he  had  seen 
a  soldier.  The  men  made  inquiries  of  their  host  as  to 
the  fate  of  Placidus.  Eustace  started,  but  concealing 
his  emotion,  evaded  their  questions,  for  he  had  no  desire 
to  brave  once  more  tlie  dangers  and  temptations  of  the 
im{)erial  city ;  but  wlien  he  heard  the  anxious  inquiries 
that  had  been  made  for  him  by  his  royal  master,  and 
the  affection  with  which  his  name  was  still  remembered 
at  Rome,  his  heart  was  touched,  and  he  hastily  left  the 
room.  During  his  absence,  the  soldiers  confeiTed  toge- 
ther on  liis  appearance,  which  reminded  them  strongly 
of  the  commander  they  were  sent  to  seek ;  and  remem- 
bering an  old  sword-mark  which  liad  honourably  dis- 
tinguished Placidus,  they  agTeed  to  look  for  it  in  their 
host.  On  his  re-entering  the  room,  they  accordingly 
glanced  immediately  at  the  back  of  his  neck,  and 
foimd  the  identical  scar.  Convinced  that  they  liad 
now  discovered  the  object  of  their  search,  tliey  laid 
aside  all  reserve,  and  spoke  so  earnestly  with  Eustac^ 
on  the  dependence  that  was  placed  on  his  generalship 
at  Rome,  and  the  dangers  that  threatened  their  country, 
that  the  determination  of  Eustace  was  gradually  shaken, 
and  he  consented  to  return  to  his  former  master,  and  if 
possible  sei-ve  him  once  again.  The  soldiers  could 
L 


146  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

scarcely  realise  that  the  ouce  gi*eat  and  magiiificent  Pla- 
cidus  stood  hefore  them  disguised  in  peasant's  clothes. 
When  last  they  saw  him,  he  hnd  reigned  like  a  prince 
over  the  hearts  of  thousands.  His  palace  had  heen  like 
that  of  a  king,  his  wealth  houndless,  his  prosperity  un- 
clouded. They  wept  when  they  heard  of  his  misfor- 
tunes and  his  trials,  of  his  loss  of  Theosbyta  and  of 
his  children. 

The  next  day  Eustace  arose  to  leave  the  solitude 
where  he  had  dwelt  so  long.  Gladly  would  he  have 
spent  there  the  remaindei"  of  his  life ;  he  shrunk  from 
the  thought  of  Rome,  the  pagan  city,  rich  in  idol 
shrines  and  this  world's  lujnuy,  underneath  all  which, 
in  silence  and  concealment,  bowed  itself  secretly  the 
Church  of  God ;  but  fearing  that  in  this  unwillingness 
to  return  there  lingered  more  of  selfishness  and  wilful- 
ness than  any  better  feeling,  Eustace  braced  himself  for 
the  departure,  and  committing  his  future  to  the  care  of 
God,  quitted  his  lonely  dwelling  with  his  guests. 

As  they  journeyed  towards  the  gates  of  Kome,  the 
news  that  Placidus  was  found  flew  before  them  to  the 
emperor's  throne ;  he  rose,  thanked  his  gods  for  such  a 
blessing,  and  came  out  himself  to  meet  and  welcome 
the  returning  hero ;  shouts  and  acclamations  resounded 
on  every  side  5  amid  the  triumph  of  the  people  and 
their  own  more  deeply-felt  emotions,  tlie  emjMM-or  and 
his  faithful  servant  entered  Home  togethei-.  And  now 
returned  for  Eustace  the  warlike  days  of  Phicidus  ;  tlie 
army  greeted  him  with  rajiture ;  a  victory  was  now  no 
longer  doubted;  joy  and  confidence  filled  every  heart; 
thousands  ])Ouretl  in  to  swell  the  imjx'rial  forces  ;  there 
was  nothing  but  glor}'  in  joining  an  ui-my  headed  by 
Eustace. 

Amongst  the  youths  who  crowded  contending  for 
this  honour,  two  j)articular]v  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  general :  he  thought  of  Lis  sons,  his  lost  Theosbytus 
and  Agapetus;  liiid  tliey  lived,  tliey  would  have  been 
the  ages  of  tliese  striplings.  Eustace  placed  them 
honourably,  as  they   deserved,    by    all   report,    in  his 


THE  LEGEND  OF  PLACIDIS.  li? 

forces,  and  kept  his  eye  upon  them.  The  march  be^n, 
and  was  continued  until  the  anriy  had  advanced  within 
sig-ht  of  the  invading  enemy,  who  lay  encamped  within 
but  a  short  distance  of  that  melancholy  coast  where 
Eustace  had  been  landed  by  the  treacherous  captain. 

Nig"ht  was  stealing-  silently  over  the  hushed  camp; 
the  soldiers  slept,  secure  in  the  vig'ilance  of  their 
guardian  sentinels,  and  Mars  their  patron  deity.  The 
two  young  strangers,  however,  still  kept  watch ;  and 
when  all  their  preparations  for  the  morrow  were 
complete,  they  went  out  tog-ether  to  find  some  lonely 
spot  where  they  might  offer  up  their  souls  in  prayer 
to  God,  for  they  were  Christians.  Unconsciously 
they  took  the  very  path  which  had  led  Eustace  and 
his  sons  fifteen  years  before,  and  paused  beneath  the 
same  group  of  trees  which  had  allured  him  to  cross 
the  fatal  river,  on  whose  banks  they  stood.  The  young- 
men  hastened  to  tlirow  themselves  j^rostrate ;  but  they 
started  on  perceiving- that  they  were  not  alone -another 
worshipper  knelt  there — a  woman,  pale  and  bowed,  and 
looking-  in  the  dim  evening-  twilig-ht  so  shadowy  and 
motionless,  that  a  sense  of  awe,  as  if  in  the  presence  of 
some  supernatural  being-,  mingled  with  the  instinctive 
reverence  that  stayed  the  young-  men's  noiseless  footsteps 
on  the  g-rass :  she  saw  them  not,  her  eyes  were  fixed 
immovably;  and  words,  whose  tones  had  utterance  of  a 
sorrow  deeper  than  g-oes  forth  in  tears,  fell  slowly  from 
her  lips.  In  the  profound  stillness  of  the  spot  each  word 
was  distinctly  heard  :  "  My  Eustace  !  my  Theosbytus  ! 
myAffapetus!"  They  started  at  the  words  so  suddenly 
that  the  woman  .turned  her  head  and  rose,  but  not  in 
terror;  she  seemed  like  one  who  has  nothing;  any  long-er 
to  fear  or  hope.  The  young-  men  knew  already  they 
were  brothers,  for  they  had  long-  since  told  each  other 
the  wonderful  tale  of  tlieir  preservation  ;  and  now,  at  the 
words  of  the  kneeling-  woman,  tliey  doubted  no  long-er 
they  had  found  their  long'-lost  mother.  "■  Your  name .'"' 
they  g-asj)ed  in  one  Itrcatli.  "Tlieosbvta,''  she  answered, 
pcai-cely  looking-  at  them.    "  Mother  !"  burst  forth  in 


148  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

one  wild  cry,  as  they  threw  themselves  impetuously 
towards  her.  She  shuddered  at  the  name  so  long  un- 
heard, and  sunk  fainting-  to  the  ground ;  but  joy  in  that 
instant  had  gone  like  healing  balm  into  her  wounded 
heart ;  and  when  her  sons  with  tender  care  had  poured 
water  from  the  river  on  her  brow,  she  once  more  opened 
her  eyes,  and  gazed  upon  them  with  a  rapture  that 
withheld  the  power  of  speech.  Meanwhile  Eustace  also 
sought  the  grove  of  trees,  which  he  had  already  seemed 
to  recognise  :  it  would  ease  his  heart  to  pour  it  forth  in 
prayer  for  his  Theosby ta  before  the  day  of  battle ;  as 
for  his  sons,  he  doubted  not  they  were  already  angels, 
gone  in  their  baptismal  innocence  before  the  throne  of 
God,  to  plead  for  him  and  their  imha})py  mother.  The 
little  gToup  upon  the  grass  attracted  his  attention,  and 
as  he  quietly  came  onwards,  the  words  ''  Theosbytus  ! 
my  Agapetus  !"  from  the  reviving  mother,  struck  on 
his  ear.  He  paused :  the  remembrance  of  his  former 
vision  on  this  very  spot  came  freshly  back  upon  him, 
and  for  an  instant  a  thought  of  spiritual  visitations 
glanced  over  his  mind ;  but  on  one  of  the  young  men 
looking  up,  he  recognised  the  face  of  his  young  captain, 
who  started  on  perceiving  his  commander;  he  knew 
not  yet  that  Eustace,  the  leader  of  the  Roman  armies, 
was  a  Christian.  Making  a  sign  to  his  brother,  Theos- 
bytus rose  upon  his  feet,  and  attempted  to  explain  to 
the  general  that  he  and  his  brother  had  been  just  now 
miraculously  restored  to  their  long-lost  motlier;  but 
Eustace  heard  him  not;  the  names  and  the  remem- 
brance of  his  vision  still  tilled  his  thouglits,  and  gazing 
intently  on  the  pale  Theosuyta,  his  faithful  eye  pierced 
through  the  veil  that  time  and  grief  had  wrouglit  over 
her  features,  and  in  a  stifled  voice  he  asked,  as  just 
before  her  sons  had  done,  "Your  name  ;"'  '' Theosbyta," 
she  answered.  "  I  am  your  husband,"  he  replied,  and 
folded  her  to  his  heart.  "  Father,  our  father !"  cried 
the  3'ouths,  and  Eustace  sunk  upon  his  knees  at  the 
sound  :  '^  My  wife,  my  sons !  0  G'od,  Thou  hast  restored 
me  all;  liow  shall  we  g'lorifv  Thy  name!"'     " 'I'he  end 


THE  LEGEND  OF  PLACIDUS.  149 

must  now  be  near,"  munnured  Theosbyta ;  "  remember, 
suffering  was  to  be  the  portion  of  thy  Christian  life." 
''The  will  of  God  be  done  in  all  thing-s,"  replied 
Eustace;  and  an  "Amen!"  echoed  by  his  wife  and 
sons  brought  peace  into  their  heai-ts,  almost  too  deeply 
moved  by  joy. 

Then  they  prayed  till  morning's  dawn,  and  then 
Theosbyta  related  to  her  husband  how  she  had  been 
kept  as  a  slave  by  the  wicked  captain  for  many  years  of 
anxious  misery,  but  that  God  had  guarded  her ;  and 
when,  after  her  master's  death,  she  became  once  more 
free,  she  had  laboured  and  maintained  herself,  ever 
hoping  that  the  day  might  arrive  when  her  husband 
and  her  children  might  return  to  claim  her.  "  And  you, 
my  sons,"  said  Eustace,  "  by  what  miracle  do  I  find  joii, 
whom  I  thought  already  torn  to  pieces  by  wild  beasts  ?'' 
Then  Theosby  tus  told  his  father  that  the  lion  which  had 
seized  him,  being-  pursued  by  hunters  before  it  had  time 
to  do  him  any  serious  injury,  dropped  him  to  defend 
itself,  whereupon  he  was  taken  home  by  some  humane 
villagers,  who  liealed  his  wounds  and  taught  him  to 
become  a  hunter;  that  some  months  after,  he  acciden- 
tally met  with  his  brother,  who  had  been  rescued  by 
shepherds  from  the  jaws  of  the  wolf;  and  that  hopeless 
of  recovering  either  of  their  parents,  they  had  remamed 
many  years  with  the  friendly  villagers,  until  able  to 
carry  arms;  when  both  becoming  soldiers,  they  had  risen 
rapidly  in  the  army,  and  been  chosen  to  benr  honourable 
part  in  it  when  commanded  to  rally  under  Eustace. 

The  night  rapidly  wore  away  in  such  discourse;  and 
with  the  dawn  of  day,  kneeling  together  for  a  while  in 
prayer,  they  embraced  and  parted. 

Joy  spread  through  all  the  ranks  when  it  was  known 
that  Eustace  had  recovered  his  sons  in  the  two  brave 
young  captains.  That  day  the  Romans  fought  victori- 
ously ;  tlie  })resence  of  their  leader  inspired  every  man 
with  confidence  and  courage,  and  news  was  sent  to  Rome 
that  filled  the  emperor  with  delight.  But  tlie  return  of 
the  army  was  for  some  time  delayed;  pursuing  his  con- 


160  CATHOLIC  LKOKiNDS. 

Suest,  Eustace  followed  his  reti-eating-  foes  until  he  had 
riven  them  completely  from  the  country,  and  then 
prepared  to  return  to  the  imperial  city.  But  meanwhile 
Trajan  was  no  more;  Adrian,  his  successor,  filled  the 
throne,  and  ordered  every  honour  to  be  paid  to  the  victo- 
rious g-eneral,  that  he  might  enter  the  city  in  triumph, 
as  was  wont  on  such  occasions. 

A  day  of  feasting  and  rejoicing-  was  proclaimed ;  and 
the  emperor  himself  resolved  to  give  it  all  the  splendour 
that  his  presence  could  bestow,  by  presiding-  himself  at 
the  banquet.  "  But  first,"  said  he  to  Eustace,  "  we 
must  satisfy  the  g-ods ;  let  us  hasten  to  the  Temjile  of 
Mars,  and  make  the  offering-s  he  has  so  richly  merited 
at  our  hands."  ''  My  tlianks,"  said  Phistace,  j)r()udly, 
"  have  been  already  offered  to  the  (;iod  I  serve,  nor  can 
I  bow  m}''  knee  within  a  heathen  tem])Ie."  The  emperor 
g-uessed  not  the  meaning  of  this  spe(!ch  at  first,  but  those 
w  0  stood  around  him  knew  its  pur[)ort  well.  "A  Chris- 
tian !"  they  murmured ;  "  Eustace  a  Christian !"  Adrian 
caught  the  word.  "  Art  tliou  a  Cljristian?"  he  demanded 
fiercely.  ''  I  am,"  said  Eustace.  "  I  am  sorry  for  thee," 
was  the  reply;  'Mjut  wilt  thou  not  come  and  offer  with 
us  at  the  sluine  of  Mars?"  "  It  is  but  to  cast  a  little 
incense  on  his  altar,"  whispered  a  friendly  voice.  "  I 
will  die  first !"  cried  Eustace,  kindling  at  the  whisper, 
for  he  knew  it  to  be  that  of  one  whom  terror  had  long' 
since  won  back  to  bcfithenism, — who  had  treacherously 
deserted  the  faith  of  Jesus,  rather  than  die  worthy  of 
a  martyr's  jjortinn.  ''  Then  die  thou  shalt !"  cried 
Adrian  furiously,  fancying-  somewhat  of  insult  in  the 
unwonted  energy  of  Eustace's  decision.  ''  I  also  am  a 
Christian,"  "And  I,  0  emperor!"  cried  out  the  manly 
voices  of  Theos])ytus  and  Agapetus,  whilst  their  father 
turned  7ipon  them  a  look  half  proud,  half  sorrowful,  and 
then  g-lanced  upAvards  with  a  smile.  Theosbyta  was 
not  far  off;  she  heard  and  vmderstood  it  all.  "  I  also 
am  a  Christian,"  she  said,  as  firmly  as  her  trembling- 
lips  could  utter  the  words,  detei-mined  now  to  share  the 
fate  of  her  bfloved  ones,  whntever  that  inight  be.     Hor 


THE  LEGEND  OF  PLACIDU9.  161 

words  did  not  reach  the  emperor's  eai*s,  but  they  were 
taken  up  by  those  who  stooa  around,  and  echoea  from 
one  to  another  till  he  heard  and  understood  them. 
"  There  is  but  one  fate  for  you  all,"  he  answered ;  "  take 
them  to  the  lions'  den." 

"  Another  and  a  better  festival  than  that  they  had 
appointed  for  us  is  now  provided,  my  beloved  ones," 
said  Eustace,  as  he  gazed  inquLring'ly  on  the  faces  of 
his  wife  and  sons.  But  not  a  quiver  of  emotion  was 
discernible ;  a  holy  smile  of  triumph  and  of  joy  lit  up 
each  countenance.  "  We  shall  be  martyi-s  for  Jesus 
Christ !"  It  was  all  they  uttered  as  they  were  huiTied 
away. 

Ci'owds  followed  to  behold  the  unexpected  sight. 

The  amphitheatre  was  throng'ed  to  excess.  So  little 
sympathy  was  felt  with  Christians  that  even  Eustace, 
on  proclaiming'  himself  one,  had  lost  at  once  all  title  to 
their  esteem.  His  victories  were  forg'otten,  or  ascribed 
to  arts  of  mag-ic.  Already  the  Christian  family  were 
exposed  before  the  raging-  beasts ;  but  not  one  would 
open  its  mouth  against  them.  Calm  and  motionless, 
their  hands  folded  on  their  breasts,  they  stood,  and  the 
hungry  lions  came  and  licked  their  feet. 

This  was  attributed  to  some  charm  :  "  They  have  a 
charm  against  the  teeth  of  beasts !"  was  echoed  round 
the  amphitheatre.  "Away  with  them  to  the  brazen 
ox !"  the  emperor  answered ;  "  they  cannot  quench  his 
fury." 

This  was  an  enormous  fig-ure,  made  resembling  an 
ox,  and  when  heated  by  a  fire  underneath  was  used  as 
an  instioiment  of  torturing  execution  to  those  victims 
who  were  placed  within  it.  The  fire  was  kindled,  and 
the  door  in  the  side  of  tlie  figin-e  o})ened.  One  1)y  one 
the  martyrs  ascended  the  ladder,  entered  the  l)razen  ox, 
and  lay  down  as  if  to  sleep.  The  door  was  closed  upon 
them,  and  the  flumes  roiired  hotter  and  more  fiei'celv 
upwards,  whil>t  the  immense  multitude  held  their  breath 
as  one  m;in,  and  a  shudder  of  irrepressible  liorror  ran 
through  the  heathen  ciowd.     But  not  a  cry  or  sound 


162  CATHO-LIC  LEGENDS. 

of  angoiisli  came  from  that  fearful  sepulchre ;  and  the 
people  remembered  the  wonderful  smiles  that  had  made 
radiant  the  faces  of  Eustace  and  his  family  as  they  dis- 
appeared one  by  one  within  its  cavity,  and  looking*  on 
each  other  they  marvelled  how  these  Christians  should 
g"o  so  loving-ly  to  death.  Then  games  and  processions 
in  honour  of  the  victory  went  on,  and  they  bowed 
themselves  before  the  shrine  of  Mars,  and  Eustace  the 
Christian  was  forgotten;  but  three  days  afteiwards  the 
brazen  ox  was  once  more  opened.  There  lay  the  mar- 
tyrs calmly,  side  by  side ;  the  same  smile  was  on  their 
faces,  no  change  or  smell  of  fire  had  passed  over  them. 
God  had  given  His  beloved  sleep. 

The  martyred  family  still  lives  in  the  memory  of 
the  Church ;  and  the  Catholic  traveller  will  recall  their 
affecting  story  as  he  visits  the  stately  churches  which 
bear  the  name  of  St.  Eustachius. 


XXII. 

THE  SANCTUARY  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE 

THORNS. 

Not  far  from  the  highest  peak  of  Jura  there  is  still 
seen  a  heap  of  ruins,  which  belonged  to  the  church  and 
monastery  of  Notre  Dame  dcs  Ep'mes  Flnirics.  It 
lies  at  the  very  extremity  of  a  narrow  and  deep  gorge, 
but  somewhat  sheltered  on  the  north,  and  so  produces 
every  year  the  rai-est  flowers  of  that  region.  At  about 
the  distance  of  half  a  leagiie,  the  opposite  extremity  af- 
fords a  view  of  the  ruins  of  an  old  seignorial  manor, 
long  since  gone,  like  tlie  house  of  God.  All  that  is 
known  now  is,  that  it  was  the  mansion  of  an  illustrious 
family,  that  signalised  themselves  in  arms ;  and  that  the 
last  who  bore  the  name  of  that  band  of  noble  knights 
died  fighting  for  the  recovery  of  the  Holy  Land,  with- 


SANCTUARY  OF  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  THORNS.       153 

out  leaving"  an  heir  to  hand  down  the  name  to  posterity. 
The  disconsolate  widow  did  not  fly  from,  but  remained 
aboiit  the  old  grounds  which  so  much  afforded  food  to 
her  melancholy ;  and  the  report  of  her  piety  and  chari- 
table deeds  extended  far  and  wide,  so  that  her  memory 
has  been  handed  down  to,  and  respected  by,  Christian 
generations.  The  people,  who  have  forgotten  all  her 
other  titles,  still  call  her  the  blessed  one. 

On  one  of  these  days,  at  the  close  of  winter,  when 
the  rigour  of  the  season  relaxes  under  the  influence  of 
a  genial  sky,  the  saint  was  taking-  her  usual  exercise, 
by  walking  along  the  avenue  of  her  chateau,  her  mind 
occupied  with  pious  thoughts.  Having  arrived  at  tlie 
thorny  thicket  terminating  the  avenue,  she  was  not  a 
little  surprised  at  seeing  that  one  of  the  bushes  was 
already  charged  with  all  the  decorations  of  spring.  She 
quickened  her  steps,  to  assure  herself  that  this  aj)pear- 
ance  was  not  produced  by  any  remains  of  the  winter's 
snow;  and,  oveijoyed  at  seeing  it  in  reality  crowned 
with  a  great  number  of  beautiful  small  stars,  she  care- 
fully removed  one  of  its  branches  for  the  ]nir})ose  of 
suspending  it  in  her  oratory,  before  an  image  of  the 
Blessed  V^irgin,  to  which,  from  the  days  of  her  cliild- 
hood,  she  was  devoutly  attached ;  and  then  returned, 
her  heart  surcharged  with  joy  at  being  tlie  bearer  of 
this  simple  offering. 

Whether  it  was  that  this  feeble  tribute  was  really 
pleasing  to  the  Divine  Mother  of  Jesus,  or  that  a  pecu- 
liar, undefinable  pleasure  is  reserved  for  the  slightest 
effusion  of  a  tender  heart  towards  the  object  of  its  love, 
the  soul  of  the  lady  of  the  manor  never  experienced 
more  tlirilling  delight  than  on  that  charming-  evening. 
With  heartfelt  joy,  she  promised  to  return  every  day  to 
•the  blossomed  bush,  and  from  it  to  bring  back  daily  a 
fresh  garland.  That  she  remained  faitliful  to  lier  en- 
g-agemeiit  who  can  doubt?  One  day,  however,  wlien 
the  care  of  tlie  sick  and  indigent  bad  detained  her 
longer  tlian  usual,  she  was  obliged  to  quicken  her  steps, 
to  c'ain  her  wild  shrubberv  before  ni;;"litfall.     Tier  hast-e 


154  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

was  vain,  for  darkness  overtook  her ;  and  it  is  said  that 
she  be^an  to  regi*et  having  entered  so  far  into  this 
dreary  wild,  when  a  clear  and  softened  lig'lit,  like  tliat 
preceding-  the  rising  sun,  displayed  at  once  before  her 
eyes  all  the  thoras  in  blossom.  She  arrested  her  steps 
for  a  moment,  thinking'  that  this  lig-ht  mig-ht  proceed 
from  the  halting-})lace  of  brigands  :  for  that  it  could  be 
produced  by  myriads  of  glow-worms,  brought  out  be- 
lore  their  proper  time,  could  not  with  any  possibility 
be  imagined;  the  season  was  still  too  far  removed 
from  the  calm  and  close  nights  of  summer. 

iVevertheless,  the  obligation,  self-imposed,  presenting 
itself  to  her  mind,  and  somewhat  giving  her  courage, 
she  advanced  slowly  with  bated  bi-eath,  took  hold  with 
a  trembling  hand  of  a  branch, — which  of  itself  seemed 
to  drop  into  her  fingers,  so  slight  was  the  resistance  of- 
fered,— and  re-entered  the  way  to  the  manor,  without 
once  looking  behind  her. 

During  all  that  night  the  lady  reflected  on  the  phe- 
nomenon, and  yet  could  find  no  satisfactory  explanation; 
and  as  she  was  determined  to  unravel  the  mystery,  on 
the  following  day,  at  the  same  hour  in  the  evening,  she 
repaired  to  the  thicket,  accompanied  by  a  faithful 
servant,  and  by  her  old  chaplain.  The  same  delicious 
softened  light  jilayed  about  it  as  on  the  previous  even- 
ing, and  seemed  to  become,  the  nearer  they  approached, 
more  briglit  and  radiant.  They  stopped  and  ])lace(l 
themselves  on  their  knees,  for  it  seemed  to  them  that 
this  hght  emanated  from  heaven;  tlien  the  aged  piiest 
arose,  alone  advanced  respectfully  towards  tlie  flowery 
thorns,  chanting*  at  the  same  time  a  cliurcli  hynm,  and 
removed  them  aside  without  the  slightest  eflbrt.  The 
spectacle  then  presented  to  their  view  so  filled  them  with 
admiration,  gratitude,  i'.nd  joy,  that  they  remained  a 
long  time  motionless.  It  was  an  image  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  rudely  carved  in  wood,  painted  in  ratlier  lively 
colours  by  an  unskilled  hand,  and  di-essed  in  simple 
attire;  and  from  that  it  Avas  tliat  the  miraculous  ligiit, 
with    whifji   the   phicf    W!i«   filloH,    fmanatcd.     ''  Jfuil 


SANCTUARY  OP  OUR  LADY  OF  THE  THORNS.      155 

Mary,  fiill  of  grace !"  said  at  lenf^h  the  prostrate  chap- 
lain ;  and  the  sound  of  harmony  which  arose  in  every 
part  of  the  wood,  when  he  had  pronounced  these  words, 
would  have  induced  one  to  imag-ine  that  they  were  re- 
peated by  the  ang-elic  choirs.  He  then  solemnly  recited 
those  admirable  litanies  in  which  faith  expresses  itself, 
though  unconsciously,  in  the  highest  style  of  poetry; 
and  after  renewed  acts  of  adoration,  he  raised  the  image 
between  his  hands  to  bear  it  to  tlie  chfiteau,  where  he 
could  find  a  sanctuary  more  worthy  of  it.  As  he  moved 
on,  the  lady  and  her  faithful  domestic,  their  hands 
joined  and  their  heads  bowed,  followed  him  slowly, 
offering  up  their  prayei-s  in  union  with  his. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  add,  that  the  marvellous  image 
was  placed  in  an  elegant  niche,  that  lights  blazed  around 
it,  that  incense  curled  about  its  head,  on  which  a  superb 
crown  was  placed,  and  that  even  until  midnight  the 
chanting  of  the  faithful  offered  it  their  gi-eetings.  But, 
strange  to  say,  on  the  following  morning  no  image 
could  be  seen,  and  no  little  alarm  was  felt  by  those 
Christians  who  experienced  such  unalloyed  happiness  at 
finding  it.  What  unknown  sin  could  have  brought 
down  this  disgi-ace  on  the  mansion  of  "the  saint?" 
Why  had  the  celestial  Virgin  quitted  it?  What  new 
resting-place  had  she  selected  ?  There  could  be  little 
difficulty  in  solving  the  mystery.  The  Blessed  Mo- 
ther of  iTesus  had  preferred  the  modest  retirement  of  her 
favourite  bushes  to  the  grandeur  of  a  worldly  dwelling. 
She  returned  to  the  coolness  and  freshness  of  the  grove, 
there  to  taste  the  peace  of  her  soHtude  and  the  sweet 
odour  of  her  flowers.  All  the  inmates  of  the  chateau 
repaired  there  in  the  evening,  and  found  it  there,  shining 
with  even  greater  splendour  than  on  the  previous  eve 
They  fell  down  on  their  knees  in  respectful  silence. 

"  Powerful  Queen  of  Angels,"  said  the  aged  chap- 
lain, "  this,  then,  is  the  temple  that  you  prefer.  Your 
will  be  done." 

And  in  a  little  time  after,  a  temple  gorgeous  smd 
rich — a  temple  such  as  coidd  be  erected  only  by  the 


156  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS, 

architects  of  those  grand  and  glorious  times — was  i-aisert 
to  cover  the  revered  image.  The  great  ones  of  the 
earth  enriched  it  with  costly  presents ;  kings  endowed 
it  with  a  tabernacle  of  the  purest  gold.  The  fame  of 
the  miracles  wrought  throug-h  it  extended  far  and  wide 
through  the  Christian  world,  and  induced  a  gTeat  many 
pious  women  to  fix  their  abode  in  the  valley,  and  place 
themselves  under  monastic  rides.  The  saintly  widow, 
more  touched  now  than  ever  with  the  lights  of  grace, 
could  not  refuse  her  assent  to  her  appointment  of  supe- 
rioress ;  and  after  a  life  of  good  works  and  edifying 
examples,  which,  like  odoriferous  incense,  ascended  at 
the  foot  of  the  altar  of  the  Virgin,  she  died  there  full 
of  days. 

Such,  according  to  the  old  records  of  the  province, 
is  the  origin  of  tlie  Church  and  Convent  of  Notre  Dame 
des  Epines  Flem'ies. 


XXIII. 

CATHERINE  OF  ROME. 

During  the  time  of  the  second  visit  of  the  great  pa- 
triarch St.  Dominic  to  the  city  of  Rome,  whilst  wait- 
ing for  the  completion  of  the  monastery  of  San  Sisto, 
he  was  moved  by  the  sight  of  the  great  corruption 
which  prevailed  among  all  classes  of  society ;  and  though 
his  stay  there  was  very  short,  and  had  not  been  made 
with  any  intention  of  pursuing  his  apostolic  labours  at 
that  time,  yet  he  could  not  resist  the  appeal  which  the 
sins  of  the  people  made  to  his  heart ;  and  he  accordingly 
commenced  the  reading  of  the  holy  Scriptures  in  the 
Papal  Palace,  with  the  view  of  remedying  the  idleness 
and  vice  of  those  attached  to  the  court ;  whilst,  at  the 
same  time,  he  preached  daily  in  the  churches  to  the 
commoner  sort  of  people,  gaining  from  both  these 
labours  an  abundant  fruit  of  souls.  He  also  did  mucli 
at  this  time  by  the  preaching  and  propagation  of  the 


CATHERINE  OF  ROME.  157 

devotion  of  the  Rosary;  and  among-  the  many  wonder- 
ful effects  which  followed  on  the  adoption  of  this  devo- 
tion, the  following'  story  is  related. 

There  was  at  that  time  in  Rome  a  woman,  named 
Cathei-iue,  who  had  long'  lived  in  the  violation  of  every 
law  of  God,  and  whose  hou-se  was  the  resort  of  the 
gayest  and  most  dissipated  society  of  the  city,  over 
whom  her  beauty  and  talents  g-ave  her  a  fatally  power- 
ful influence. 

This  woman,  although  she  had  long  neglected  every 
duty  of  religion,  was  induced  by  the  novelty  which  at- 
tached to  St.  Dominic's  preaching,  to  go  and  hear  one 
of  his  sermons.  It  made  so  deep  an  impression  on  her, 
that  she  went  fm-ther;  and  receiving  from  his  own 
hands  one  of  the  rosaries,  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
distribute  among  the  people  after  his  sermons  were 
ended,  she  kept  it  about  her  person,  and  began  the 
daily  recital  of  it ;  many  years  having  passed  since  she 
had  said  a  single  prayer  imtil  that  time.  But  long 
habits  of  a  worldly  and  sinful  life  were  not  to  be  over- 
come by  a  temporary  impression  such  as  that  effected 
by  the  preacher's  words ;  and  Catherine's  new  devotion 
produced  no  change  in  her  manner  of  living.  But  God 
designed  to  make  this  soul  a  special  monument  of  His 
mercy,  and  at  the  same  time  to  mark,  by  the  manner 
of  her  conversion,  the  power  and  efficacy  which  He  is 
pleased  to  attach  to  the  devotion  of  tlie  Rosary.  One 
day,  as  she  was  walking  near  her  own  house,  there  met 
her  a  young  man  of  noble  and  majestic  appearance, 
whose  aspect  filled  her  with  an  emotion  she  had  never 
felt  before.  Addressing  himself  to  her  with  a  grace 
which,  whilst  it  wonderfully  attracted  her  heart,  filled 
it  at  the  same  time  witli  a  certain  sensation  of  awe,  he 
bid  her  hasten  home  and  prepare  su])per  for  him,  for 
he  was  about  to  become  her  guest.  Catherine  lost  no 
time  in  making  every  tiling  ready,  and  they  sat  down 
together  at  the  table.  But  what  was  her  surprise  when 
she  perceived  that  every  thing  which  her  new  guest 
touched  was  immediately  tinged  with  blood  !    At  first 


158  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

she  thought  he  must  have  cut  himself  with  the  knife, 
and  therefore  begged  him  to  allow  her,  if  such  were  the 
case,  to  bind  up  his  wound ;  but  he  replied,  "  I  have 
no  wound;  but  do  you  not  know  that  a  Christian 
should  eat  no  food  which  he  has  not  first  steeped  in  the 
'^lood  of  his  Lord  ?"  "  In  the  name  of  God,"  said  the 
terrified  women,  "  tell  me  who  you  are,  and  what  you 
desire  of  me  ?"  "  That  you  shall  presently  know,"  re- 
plied her  guest;  "  but  you  must  first  order  away  these 
servants  and  tables,  that  we  may  be  alone  together." 
The  order  being  duly  obeyed,  he  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
in  a  moment  she  saw  that  his  figm*e  changed  into  that 
of  a  little  child  of  surpassing  beauty,  yet  a  beauty 
rather  divine  than  human.  His  face  had  all  the  loveli- 
ness of  childhood,  but  the  little  head  was  crowned  with 
sharp  thorns;  on  his  feeble  shoulders  he  bore  a  heavy 
cross;  while  his  hands  and  feet,  beautiful  in  tiieir  childish 
proportions,  bore  the  marks  of  cruel  wounds,  and  his 
whole  body  was  streaming  with  blood.  It  was  a  mixed 
representation  of  the  two  mysteries  of  the  Divine  In- 
fancy and  Passion.  Catherine's  heart  smote  her  with  a 
terrible  remorse ;  all  the  iniquity  and  forgetfidness  of 
her  whole  life  came  before  her  soul  with  a  vivid  inten- 
sit}'  which  well-nigh  deprived  her  of  reason ;  but  the 
sweet  voice  of  the  Cliild  Jesus  revived  her  fainting 
spirits,  as  He  said,  "  Enough  of  sin  and  liardness  of 
heart,  my  sister;  look  here,  and  see  what  tliy  sins  Jiave 
cost  Me,  and  what  T  began  to  suffer  even  wlien  a  little 
Child,  and  ceased  not  to  endure  uj)  to  the  hour  of  My 
death."  Then  another  change  passed  over  the  figure 
before  her,  and  she  saw  Him  as  He  apj)enred  when 
dving  on  tiie  Cross.  Ev'ery  bloody  trace  of  His  Passion 
was  there ;  his  face  livid  and  disfigured,  and  the  whole 
body  bathed  in  the  sweat  of  death.  This  vision  lasted 
but  a  few  moments ;  it  changed  yet  once  again,  and 
then  she  saw  Him  so  glorious  and  beautiful,  that  h-er 
eyes  could  not  gaze  at  Him  for  the  excess  of  light  thnt 
shone  from  His  person.  It  was  not  only  from  face  nrid 
form  that  this  glory  beamed  forth  as  from  a  sun,  Imfc 


CATHERINE  OF   HOME  159 

eveiv  wound,  wiiich  in  the  fonner  visions  had  presented 
so  fearful  and  g-hastly  an  aspect,  was  now  clotlied  with 
a  wondrous  beauty,  beyond  all  human  loveliness,  and 
flashing-  with  the  brightness  of  a  thousand  gems.  Then 
lie  spoke  again:  ''Look  at  thyself,"  He  said,  "and  * 
look  at  Me.  0  blind  and  wandering  sheep,  return  to '' 
the  straight  path  and  the  safe  fold ;  never  forget  what 
thou  hast  seen  this  day,  for  in  these  visions  hast  thou 
been  shown  the  way  of  salvation."  And  with  these 
words  He  disappeared. 

It  is  not  aifficult  to  see  that  in  these  words  of  our 
Lord  and  the  accompanying  visions,  meditation  on  the 
mysteries  of  His  life  and  death  which  are  given  in  the 
Mosary  is  what  is  pointed  out  as  "the  way  of  salva- 
tion." They  had  their  full  effect  on  Catherine;  the 
loyful,  sorrowftil,  and  glorious  mysteries,  thus  pictured 
to  her  eyes,  remained  imj)rinted  also  on  her  heart.  She 
determined  once  more  to  seek  St.  Dominic  ;  and  relating 
to  him  the  whole  of  what  had  passed,  placed  the  direc- 
tion of  her  future  life  in  his  hands ;  for  lie  seemed  to 
her  as  an  angel  of  God  sent  to  guide  her  yet  further 
on  that  way  of  salvation  which  his  words  hud  been  the 
first  to  open  to  her.  In  his  hands  her  conversion  was 
completed  ;  and  the  rest  of  her  life  was  spent  in  so  peni- 
tent and  holy  a  manner,  that  he  himself  acknowledged 
that  he  was  filled  with  wonder  at  the  transformation 
which,  by  the  mercy  of  God,  had  been  wrought  in  her 
soul.  Henceforth  meditation  on  those  divine  mysteries, 
which  seemed  in  so  special  a  manner  to  have  been 
given  to  her  for  her  guidance,  was  her  constant  devo- 
tion ;  and  at  her  death  (which  took  place  many  years 
aftenvards,  when  she  had  distril)uted  all  her  goods  to 
the  poor,  and  had  herself  retired  to  a  life  of  strict 
poverty  and  continual  prayer),  it  is  said  the  Blessed 
Virgin  appeared  to  her,  and  received  her  soul  at  the 
moment  that  she  expired.  Her  body  lies  buried  iu  ths 
Church  of  St.  John  Lateran. 


]60  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS 


XXIV. 

THE  MIRACLE  OF  TYPASUS. 

Evening  was  setting'  in  over  the  ancient  city  of  Car- 
thag-e,  and  bringing-  to  its  close  a  day  of  great  and  solemn 
rejoicing;  bells  had  been  ringing  the  whole  day  long, 
solemn  processions  had  passed  up  and  down  the  city, 
and  on  men's  faces  there  was  the  impress  of  a  joy  too 
deep  for  utterance, — such  joy  as  is  known  only  to  those 
who  have  endured  the  extremity  of  suffering.  For  tlie 
church  of  Carthage  had  received  as  her  bishop  tliis  day 
the  saintly  Eugenius,  after  four-and-twenty  years  of 
widowhood  and  desolation;  and  all  those  earnest  faces 
which  crowd  that  ancient  Basilica  have  known  what  it 
was  to  have  been  left  orphans,  without  a  head,  to  face 
alone  the  fury  of  a  persecution  almost  imrivalled  even 
in  those  ages  of  blood.  Enter  into  the  church,  and  you 
will  feel  that  the  mere  surface  of  humanity  has  been 
swept  away ;  the  men  and  women  and  children  even 
who  sun'ound  you  have  tested  the  realities  of  life ;  and 
the  future  has  nothing  terrible  for  those  who  have  borne 
themselves  so  manfully  through  the  past.  There  is  a 
calmness  and  gTandem*  about  some  amongst  them  wliich 
at  once  attracts  your  attention, — they  seem,  by  common 
consent,  honoured  above  the  rest ;  if  you  look  more  at- 
tentively, you  will  see  the  insignia  of  their  rank.  Some 
maimed  limb,  some  terrific  gash  or  scar,  bears  witness 
that  they  have  resisted  unto  blood  for  the  faitli  of 
Christ :  and  tlius  the  rage  of  the  persecutor,  wlnle  it 
has  disfigured  their  earthly  bodies,  has  placed  upon 
their  brows  an  aureole  of  glory  even  in  this  lower  life. 
Listen  :  the  heart  of  that  mighty  multitude  goes  up  as 
the  voice  of  one  man  in  thanksgiving  to  God.  'I'hat 
solemn  ancient  chant,  it  bowed  the  heart  of  the  great 
Augustine,  and  made  him  weep,  when  but  a  few  vears 
before  he  heard  it  in  that  vcrv  church :  what  would  ho 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  TYPASU8.         161 

have  felt  had  he  heard  it  as  it  burst  frora  the  lips  of 
those  noble  confessors  and  future  martjTs  of  Christ ! 
They  thouglit  not  of  themselves  or  their  own  sufferings ; 
not  one  thoug-ht  of  self-g-ratulation  marred  the  perlec- 
tion  of  their  self-abandonment;  they  thoug;ht  but  of 
the  wrong^s  of  Jesus ;  their  hearts  were  bursting  at  the 
remembrance  of  the  insults  which  for  more  than  fifty 
years  had  been  heaped  upon  Him  before  their  very 
eyes;  they  were  making-  an  act  of  reparation,  they 
were  making-  atonement,  they  were  thanking  God  for 
those  mystei-ies  of  faith,  tliat  Christ  was  God,  that 
God  had  died  in  human  form  for  man.  Far  away  over 
the  blue  MediteiTanean  tlie  fisherman  caugfht  the  sound, 
and  stood  up  in  his  little  boat,  which  looked  all  golden 
in  the  setting-  sun,  and  joined  his  heart  to  theirs.  Far 
away  the  soft  breeze  bore  it  to  the  villages  scattered 
amidst  the  Mauritanian  mountains,  sleeping  in  such  a 
flood  of  light  and  spiritual  beauty  as  is  only  to  be  seen 
beneath  the  sunsets  of  the  south.  And  far,  far  above 
them  all,  and  beyond  them  all,  the  watching  angels 
caught  the  sound,  and  bore  it  before  the  throne  of  God. 
In  its  eager  impetuosity  of  love  it  tried  to  make  amends 
to  the  sacred  heart  of  Jesus  for  more  than  half  a  cen- 
tury of  blasphemy.  Oh,  who  can  doubt  that  it  attained 
its  end  ! 

And  now  the  newly-consecrated  bishop  stood  upon 
the  high -altar  steps,  his  priests  and  attendants  ranged 
in  semicircles  on  either  side.  He  was  a  man  of  tall 
statm-e  and  commanding  countenance;  but  that  pecu- 
liar expression  which  rendered  it  so  different  from 
others  cannot  be  described,  and  is  best  understood  when 
we  remember  that  even  in  life  he  A\as  reckoned  nmong 
tlie  number  of  the  saints.  As  he  stood  tliere,  address- 
ing for  the  first  time  the  flock  wlach  had  been  com- 
mitted to  his  care,  the  first  impri'ssion  his  calm  cleai- 
voice  made  on  the  hearts  of  all  was  one  of  recollection, 
humility,  and  peace.  The  dove,  wherein  reposed  the 
adorable  body  of  the  Lord,  brooded  above  his  head,  and 
his  words  seemed  rather  the  echo  of  the  broathings  of 

M 


162  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

the  dove  than  any  thought  or  speech  of  eartli.  Few 
would  have  recogTiised  in  tlie  calm  subdued  tones  of 
that  voice  the  expression  of  the  ardent  passionate  s[)irit, 
who,  hke  another  St.  Paul,  would  have  wished  himself 
anathema,  rather  than  behold  one  of  his  children  fall 
away  from  the  faith ;  whose  daily  prayer  was  that  he 
mig-ht  die  for  Christ;  whose  nightly  dream  was  tliat 
the  crown  of  martyrdom  was  within  his  g-rasp.  And 
while  the  saintly  bishop  goes  back  into  the  past,  with 
his  whole  soul  filled  with  thoughts  of  those  among 
whom  he  had  to  labour,  we  too  must  look  back  and  ex- 
plain in  brief  words  the  circumstances  which  were  the 
lorerunnei-s  of  the  facts  we  are  about  to  record. 

The  Roman  provinces  in  Africa  brought  under  the 
empire  of  the  faith  were  at  the  very  height  of  peace 
and  prosperity.  The  voice  of  the  gTcat  Augustine, 
that  column  of  the  Church,  against  which  the  fretfid 
waves  of  false  doctrine  broke  themselves  in  vain,  was 
scarcely  hushed  in  death;  the  Church  of  Carthage 
seemed  to  sit  enthroned  like  a  queen,  by  the  shores  of 
that  sweet  southern  sea  whose  waters  brought  to  her 
feet  the  learning,  wealth,  and  respectful  salutations  of 
the  rest  of  Christendom;  on  a  sudden,  men  were  roused 
from  this  deep  sleep  of  security  by  a  storm  which  over- 
whelmed them  ere  they  were  well  aware  of  its  ap- 
proach. In  the  year  428,  Genseric,  the  king  of  the 
Vandals  and  Alans,  burst  upon  these  fertile  provinces 
with  his  huge  barbarian  armies,  and  in  an  incredibly 
short  space  of  time  the  whole  country  was  laid  wnste. 
These  Vandals  wei-e,  for  the  greater  |)art,  Arians,  and 
joined  the  sacrilegious  malice  so  peculiar  to  hei-etics  to 
their  native  barbarity.  We  have  neither  i>ower  nor 
heart  to  describe  what  the  Cliristians  of  tllo^c  times 
were  forced  to  look  upon  :  the  adorable  body  and  blood 
of  the  Lord  spilt  and  scattered  on  the  pavements  ;  the 
altar-linen  made  into  shirts  and  imder-garnients  by  tiie 
blasphemers  ;  bishops  burnt  alive ;  the  virgins  of  Clu-ist 
6coiu"ged,  tortured,  insulted ;  and  the  Catholics  of 
noblest  descent  disqualified  from  holding  any  office, 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  TVI'ASUS.  163 

and  condemned  to  keep  cattle.  Genseric  died,  and  was 
succeeded  by  his  son,  Huneric,  under  whom  tlie  perse- 
cution went  on  more  hotly  than  before.  At  last,  at  the 
earnest  intercession  of  the  Emperor  Zeno,  Huneric  per- 
mitted the  Church  of  Carthage  to  elect  a  bishop,  after 
the  see  had  been  vacant  twenty-one  years.  There  had 
been  small  time  for  ceremony  or  preparation ;  the  sliep- 
herdless  flock,  eager  to  enjoy  the  comfort  of  a  pastor, 
with  common  consent  pitched  upon  Eugenius,  who  had 
grown  up  amongst  them  from  childhood  in  the  odom* 
of  sanctity ;  and  he,  well  knowing  what  he  was  doing, 
accepted  the  solemn  call,  knowing  that  the  spousal  ring 
with  which  he  espoused  the  Church  of  Carthage  was 
one  of  certain  suifering,  and  almost  certain  death; 
knowing  that  the  present  lull  in  the  storm  would  be  of 
short  duration,  and  that  as  soon  as  Huneric's  poHcy 
would  allow  him  to  follow  his  fierce  inclinations,  lie 
would  be  the  first  victim  of  his  rnge.  Perhaps  even  his 
unshrinking  heart  would  have  quailed,  if  he  could  have 
seen  in  that  moment  the  real  life  that  lay  before  him; 
the  long  lingering  martyrdom,  harder  far  than  death ; 
the  agony  of  betrayal  and  apostasy  amongst  some  he 
trusted  most.  But  we  will  not  anticipate ;  but  listen  as 
he  stands  now,  with  the  full  glow  of  the  setting  sun 
upon  his  brow,  and  his  piercing  eye  searching  the  very 
hearts  of  those  whom  he  addressed.  "  Therefore, 
well-beloved  children  and  brethren  in  Christ,  bear 
ye  the  trial  patiently,  and  wait  for  the  end.  Go  on 
in  the  way  of  loftiness  with  the  foot  of  lowliness, 
fearing  only  sin,  which  will  easily  make  an  apost-ate  of 
a  confessor.  For  how  shall  the\'  be  strong  to  confess 
the  faith  of  tlie  divinity  of  Christ,  who  dare  to  defile 
the  members  which  are  Ilis'.''  or  how  can  they  follow 
the  meek  Lamb  in  lowliness,  whom  any  tliought  of 
pride  upliltoth .''  Chastity,  therefore,  being  the  splen- 
dour of  charity,  and  martyrdom  the  particular  crown 
of  both,  humility  is  their  safest  guardian.  Where  tliese 
gifts  abound,  I  liave  no  fear  that  the  weakest  amongst 
you  will  fall  away  benpath  any  temptation  :  yea,  even 


lG4r  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

the  tender  and  delicate  woman  sliall  be  strong,  ana 
offer  up  her  child  to  death,  gazing  on  the  Mother  o£ 
God  beneath  the  Cross." 

The  sun  sank  into  the  sea,  and  sudden  twilight  fell 
upon  that  mig-hty  crowd;  the  mystic  dove  glittered 
in  the  lamps  which  burnt  around  the  relics  of  the 
martyrs.  Something  in  the  solemnity  of  that  moment 
thi-illed  upon  the  chord  so  closely  buried  in  the  heart 
of  Eugenius.  He  burst  forth  :  "  0  angels  of  my  God, 
intercede  for  us !  0  glorious  patriarchs  and  prophets, 
plead  for  us !  0  blessed  Peter,  keep  not  silence  now ! 
0  great  and  most  beloved  Father  Augustine,  more 
great  and  beloved  now  than  when  on  earth,  from  the 
secure  haven  unto  which  thou  hast  attained,  look  down 
on  us,  thy  desolate  flock,  tossed  and  di-iven  on  these 
stormy  seas ! 

"  And  you,  0  children  of  saints  !  0  brethren  of  mar- 
tyrs !  remember  ye  belong  to  Christ,  who  suffers  in 
your  torments,  and  prepares  for  you  an  immortal  crown. 
Soon  shall  the  Red  Sea  of  martyrdom  be  passed ;  soon 
shall  the  maimed  and  tortured  body  rest  in  peace ;  soon 
shall  the  everlasting  niiptials  of  the  Lamb  be  celebrated, 
and  He  will  lead  the  choice  ones  of  His  flock  into  those 
heavenly  pastures,  whereof,  methinks,  the  very  grass 
are  joys.  Therefore  go  on  with  stedfast  foot,  jiraying 
for  yourselves  and  for  our  unworthiness  that  we  may 
attain  this  crown."  Then  raising  his  hand,  he  bli^ssed 
them  in  tlie  name  of  the  tin-ice  Holy  Trinity  ;  and  men 
left  the  "  liouse  and  the  dove"  in  peace. 

We  will  conduct  our  readers  over  some  s|i!ice  of 
time,  in  which  the  pledge  Eugenius  gave  thnt  day  was 
well  redeemed,  and  leaving  Carthage,  travel  westward 
to  the  ancient  city  of  Ty{)asus.  The  little  Ai-al)  village 
of  Ifessed  now  occu])ies  its  site ;  and  the  iniins  which 
attract  the  admiration  of  the  traveller  of  the  present 
day  sufficiently  prove  its  grandeur  in  the  days  of  its 
Roman  occupation.  Jhit  at  the  time  of  which  we  are 
speaking,  the  gi'acefid  columns  which  surround  the 
forum  had  escaped  unscathed  from  the  hand  of  the  bar- 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  TYPASU9.  165 

barian;'  and  the  arches  which  spanned  the  broad  "Via 
Scipiano,"  which  led  to  it  from  the  city  gates,  still  told 
the  tale  of"  earthly  triumphs  which  had  been  celebrated 
there.  That  way  was  soon  to  become  a  "  Via  Cnicis," 
and  the  power  before  which  the  mistress  of  the  world 
had  sunk  into  the  dust  was  to  be  launched  to  scorn  upon 
that  spot.  But  now  through  the  deserted  streets  of 
that  old  city  two  men  are  passing  quickly :  one  a 
venerable  old  man  in  the  dress  of  an  ecclesiastic ;  the 
other  clearly  showing  by  his  fair  complexion,  keen  blue 
eyes,  and  short,  firm-set  stature,  that  he  was  one  of  the 
warlike  children  of  the  north.  As  they  passed  by  house 
after  house,  whose  open  portal  and  unkindled  hearth 
showed  that  it  was  forsaken,  a  party  of  men  brushed 
rudely  past  them,  the  foremost  of  whom  was  speaking 
ill  a  loud  voice  of  the  measures  soon  to  be  taken  with 
tlmt  "dog  of  an  intruder,  Eugenius."  The  hot  blood 
of  the  northman  mounted  to  his  cheek  in  a  moment, 
and,  clenching  his  teeth,  he  drew  the  short  sword  which 
deix'nded  from  his  belt,  muttering,  "  The  wretch  !  the 
blasphemer !  never  shall  he  take  that  venerable  name 
witliin  his  lips  again  while  I — "  "  My  son,"  said  the 
old  priest,  laying  his  trembling  hand  upon  his  lips, 
"  well  may  it  be  seen  that  you  are  but  a  catechumen  in 
the  school  of  Christ,  when  words  like  these  spring  to 
your  lips  so  readily.  For  the  sake  of  your  saintly 
-Master,  hold  your  peace  imtil  we  reach  the  open  shore; 
there  shall  we  be  in  safety  from  the  unfriendly  ears 
which  now  may  overhear  our  speech."*  Theobald  bit 
his  lips  till  the  blood  came ;  but  his  hand  traced  the 
sign  of  the  cross,  and  the  fury  which  his  Scandini^vian 
ancestors  deemed  perfectly  uncontrollable  yielded  to  its 
might.  They  passed  on  in  silence  along  the  broad- 
wav,  across  the  forum,  until  they  gained  the  sea-shore. 
Cahn  and  wonderfully  ])eautiful  was  the  scene  they 
gazeil  upon :  the  long  level  sands,  where  the  waves 
rippled  up  to  the  very  line  they  had  worn  when  the 
ships  of  old  Rome  bore  Scipio  to  the  conquest  of  this 
new  world.   To  the  east  lay  the  mausoleum  of  the  royal 


166  CATHOMC  LEGENDS. 

family  of  Massinissa,  now  vulg-arly  called  "  the  tomb  of 
the  Christian."  Above  the  resting-place  of  the  dead, 
one  fair  solitary  palm-tree  stood  out  ag;ainst  the  deep 
blue  sky,  bringing'  remembrance  of  her  of  whom  the 
Church  sings,  that  amidst  the  desert  and  the  tombs  of 
earth  she  was  exalted  as  a  palm-tree  in  Cades.  The 
quiet  of  the  time  and  place  seemed  to  still  the  stormy 
spirit  of  the  northman ;  but  when  the  priest  turned  to 
him,  as  though  to  ask  his  thoughts,  he  burst  forth, 
"  Men  live  amid  these  scenes  of  blood  till  they  learn 
indifference.  Your  people  are  driven  into  exile,  and 
vou  walk  calmly  through  their  desolate  homes ;  you 
hear  those  savage  threats  against  Eugenius  the  holy, 
the  wise,  the  good,  and  it  scarcely  stirs  your  blood." 
The  old  man  gazed  out  upon  the  waste  of  waters,  as 
though  other  scenes  than  those  he  looked  on  were  be- 
fore his  mind's  eye.  He  paused  long-  before  he  spoke, 
and  then  seemed  rather  tliinking  aloud  than  answering 
his  companion :  "  Four  little  months  ago  yon  sea  was 
alive  with  boats,  bearing  their  living  cargoes  to  the 
ships  which  lay  in  the  offing.  All  along  this  line  of 
sand  tliei'C  were  groups  of  })eoj)le  in  tears  ;  there  were 
partings  between  those  wlio  shall  meet  no  more  on 
earth.  Son  was  torn  from  mother,  friend  from  friend, 
priest  from  people.  As  each  little  boat  bore  the  exiles 
from  the  shore,  they  stood  up  and  stretched  out  their 
arms  towards  Typasus,  and  mournfully  waved  their 
adieus  to  those  they  had  lel"t  to  die  within  its  walls. 
One  old  man  vkxs  amongst  tliem,  wliose  spirit  was  worn 
out  by  the  long*  harassing  struggle  witli  the  Arian  in- 
trucj^rs.  His  ilesh  quivered  and  shrank  with  inexj)res- 
sible  hoiTor  at  the  tliought  of  torture  and  insult  and 
violent  death.  He  looked  to  the  distant  shores  of  Spain 
as  a  land  at  least  of  rest  and  a  quiet  grave.  He  was 
one  of  the  last  to  embai'k,  and  as  he  looked  back  soi-row- 
fully  to  the  land  he  was  leaving,  a  form  seemed  to 
float  Tqion  the  edge  of  the  blue  water?,  and  that  face 
of  unspeakable  sorrow  gazed  reproachfully  ujion  him, 
and  a  voice  breathed  into  his  inmost  soul, '  Can  it  be  that 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  TYPASUS.         167 

thou  fearest  to  stay  and  feed  those  few  sheep  in  the 
desert  ?'  He  hesitated  not  a  moment :  he  leaped  from 
the  boat  into  the  water ;  he  rejoined  the  forsaken  band 
of  those  who,  from  infirmity  or  poverty,  could  not  em- 
bark,— the  little  knot  of  noble  confessors,  who,  from 
their  longing-  for  martyrdom,  would  not  embark.  Love 
rekindled  the  failing-  torch  of  faith.  He  went  with  joy 
and  singing-  in  his  heart  to  console  his  children, — to 
suifer  and  to  die  with  them.  My  son,  call  not  the  old 
man  indifferent  because  his  God  has  given  him  the 
g-ift  of  patience."  Theobald  fell  on  his  knees  and 
pressed  the  old  man's  hand  to  his  lips ;  he  would  have 
poiu-ed  out  his  repentance  for  his  unjust  and  hasty 
words,  but  the  priest  checked  him,  saying-,  "  Enoug-li, 
my  son;  I  know  all  you  would  say.  Now  may  you 
deliver  to  me  in  all  safety  the  biddings  of  our  holy 
bisliop ;  but  first  will  it  please  you  to  declare,  in  brief 
words,  all  that  has  passed  at  Carthag-e  since  the  last 
burst  of  this  fierce  storm.  Small  communication  hath 
there  been  between  the  churches  since  it  broke  forth, 
and  the  last  messenger  Eug-enius  despatched  to  us  was 
taken  and  slaughtered  on  his  way." 

"  My  father,"  replied  Tlieoljald,  "  it  is  but  little  I 
can  tell  of  the  first  outbreak,  for  I  was  not  in  Carthag-e; 
I  only  joined  Huneric  with  the  last  troops  wliich  came 
from  Spain ;  but  I  found  Eug-enius'  name  on  the  lips  of 
all,  as  one  whoso  sanctity  and  wonderful  gifts  made  him 
master  of  all  hearts,  and  excited  ag-aiust  him  Huneric's 
especial  rage.  I  heard  tlie  first  order  Huneric  sent  him 
was  to  sluit  the  church  against  the  Vand-als,  who  were 
beginning-  to  embrace  the  faith  in  munbers.  Eugenius' 
reply  was,  '  Tell  Huneric  t!iat  the  door  which  the  King- 
of  kings  hath  opened,  none  may  dare  to  shut.'  Huneric 
burst  out  with  a  torrent  of  curses,  and  the  next  day 
witnessed  a  scene  that  it  passcth  my  poor  wit  to  de- 
scribe. Guards  were  placed  at  ^he  doors  of  the  churches ; 
and  when  any  one  passed  in  clothed  in  the  habit  of  a 
Vandal,  tliey  struck  them  on  the  head  with  a  short, 
rough,  jngged  staff,  and  twisting-  it  into  the  hair,  vio- 


168  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

lently  dragged  off  both  hair  and  skin  together.  The 
agony  was  so  intense  tliat  many  died,  and  many  lost 
their  eye-sight ;  but  not  one  would  give  up  their  faith." 
Theobald  covered  his  eyes,  as  though  to  shut  out  the 
hoiTor  of  the  remembrance.  The  priest  asked  him  in  a 
calm  voice,  "  And  the  women, — did  they  stand  firm  ?" 
"  Most  stedfast,"  answered  Theobald  j  "  it  was  the  sig'ht 
of  the  strength  made  perfect  in  their  weakness  that  first 
drew  mo,  a  wandering  sheep,  into  the  fold.  I  saw  one, 
Dionysia,  a  matron  of  noble  birth  and  most  delicate 
nurture,  scourged  till  she  sank  fainting  in  her  own  blood. 
During  the  torment,  I  saw  her  gaze  fastened  on  her 
young  son,  Majoricus,  who  stood  weeping  beside  her, 
with  a  devoted  tenderness  such  as  in  our  colder  lands  I 
never  witnessed.  All  the  mother's  heart  was  in  that 
gaze.  When  they  had  wreaked  their  will  on  her,  they 
turned  to  the  son.  His  cheeks  grew  pale  at  the  horrid 
preparations,  and  at  the  first  touch  of  the  torturer's 
hand  he  uttered  a  shriek  of  horror.  That  slu-iek  roused 
the  mother  from  her  death-like  swoon ;  she  started  to 
her  feet,  and  in  a  voice  which  thrilled  through  the  whole 
place,  she  said,  *  Remember,  0  my  son,  we  were  baptised 
in  the  name  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  and  the  bosom  of  our 
Mother  the  Church.'  Then,  with  most  lofty  words, 
she  went  on  encouraging  him,  as  he  endured  the  tor- 
ment with  heroic  courage  and  when  he  coidd  no  longer 
stand,  his  burning  head  was  laid  upon  her  lap;  and  while 
the  ficsli  to  which  slie  gave  birtli  was  (piivering  in  agony 
before  her,  she  perpetually  traced  upon  it  the  healing 
sigii  of  tiie  cross,  until  she  received  the  last  sigh  of  the 
victorious  martyr.  That  scene,  that  martyrdom,  that 
mother,  purchased  for  me  the  gift  of  faith  ;  and  not  for 
me  only, — four  of  us,  ere  that  night  closed  in,  knelt  at 
the  feet  of  Eugenius  to  ask  for  admittance  to  the  Catholic 
Church."  "  0  noble  confessor  of  Christ  I"  exclain.ed 
the  priest  softly,  "  thou  like  Abraham  hast  sacrificed 
thy  only  son,  and  thou  hast  become  the  spiritual  mother 
of  many  children  in  Christ.  And  the  end,  my  son?" 
"  She  so  longed  to  possess  the  precious  remains  of  her 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  TYPASUS.         169 

child,  tliat  several  of  us  went.in  the  night  to  the  place 
of  execution,  and  succeeded  in  bringing^  them  to  her. 
^le  i)uried  them  in  her  own  house,  that,  as  she  said, 
she  might  day  by  day  offer  to  the  Holy  Trinity  her 
prayers  over  his  gTave,  in  the  lively  hope  of  a  glorious 
resurrection  with  him.  And  there  the  childless  solitary 
mother  offers  the  daily  sacrifice  of  her  life."  "And  the 
clerg}'  ?"  asked  the  priest — "  are  any  spared  ?"  "  Scarce 
any  are  left  in  Carthage,"  replied  Theobald.  "  Euge- 
nius  does  every  thing,  and  is  every  where ;  he  moves 
like  an  an^el  of  consolation  through  the  miseries  of  the 
times ;  and  the  love  of  his  children  for  him  is  strong  as 
death.  The  moon  is  not  new  since  nearly  5000  bishops 
and  priests,  and  noble  Catholic  laymen  of  Carthage, 
were  banished  by  the  tyrant's  order  to  the  deserts. 
There  they  were  to  be  left  the  prey  of  scorpions  and 
venomous  serpents,  to  be  fed  with  barley,  like  beasts. 
Numbers  of  the  people  followed  their  bishops  and  priests 
to  the  very  borders  of  the  desert,  as  though  in  triumphal 
procession,  with  tapers  in  their  hands.  Eugenius  stood 
forth,  an  envoy  between  the  living  and  the  dead,  and 
said  they  must  now  return,  for  their  time  was  not  yet 
come.  Then  the  air  was  rent,  not  with  the  cries  of  those 
who  were  descending  into  this  living  grave,  but  of  those 
who  were  returning*  to  life.  Mothers  cast  their  babes 
at  the  feet  of  the  confessors,  and  exclaimed,  '0  confessoi-s 
of  Christ,  ye  pass  on  swiftly  to  your  crowns,  but  to 
whom  do  you  leave  yoiu"  desolate  fiock  ?  Who  will 
baptise  our  children  ?  Who  will  bin  y  us  with  solemn 
supplication  after  death  ?  By  whom  sliall  the  Divine 
Sacrifice  be  offered  up  amongst  us?'  Then  Eugenius 
raised  his  voice,  and  stilled  that  mighty  cry.  He  told 
them  a  beacon  should  be  kindled  tliat  day  amid  the 
dreary  sands  of  the  desert,  which  should  lighten  the 
Christian  world ;  that  if  their  voices  wore  hushed  in 
death,  God  would  raise  tlie  dead,  or  make  tlie  dumb  to 
speak,  rather  than  allow  His  truth  to  be  without  a  wit- 
ness. Then  ])rostrating  at  the  feet  of  the  pr-'-cipal 
bishop  amongst  them,  he  kissed  them,  and  asked  his 


170  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

benediction,  and  all  the  people  prostrating  to  receive  it. 
Eug-enius  led  them  back  to  Carthage,  with  solemn  hymns 
of  tlianksgiving;  for  those  who  were  counted  wortny  tp 
suffer  for  the  name  of  Christ.  Tidings  have  since  been 
brought  us,  that  not  one  of  those  tenible  serpents  have 
dared  to  approach  the  confessors." 

"  Yea,  the  desert  shall  blossom  as  a  rose,"  said  the 
priest,  fervently.  "  How  sweet  is  the  perfume  it  is  now 
sending  up  in  the  sight  of  the  company  of  heaven !  But, 
my  son,  the  hour  is  waxing  late,  and  I  may  not  tarry 
longer  from  my  post  at  this  moment ;  I  would  fain  hear 
the  message  of  the  blessed  Father  Eugenius  ere  we 
pai't  for  the  night." 

"  They  are  evil  tidings,"  said  Theobald,  after  a 
pause.  "  I  would  I  had  not  been  their  bearer.  Father 
Euo-enius  bids  me  say  that  secret  intelligence  has  reach- 
ed him  that  the  fury  of  Huneric  is  especially  directed 
against  Typasus  at  this  moment.  The  Arian  bishop  has 
informed  him  of  your  stedfast  opposition  to  his  intru- 
sion— of  your  courageous  celebration  of  the  Tremendous 
Mysteries — of  the  unshaken  constancy  of  your  band  of 
confessors.  Huneric  is  mad  with  liiry  at  the  fruitless- 
ness  of  his  eiForts ;  and  Eugenius  says  that  even  now 
his  fierce  bands  are  preparing  to  do  their  worst.  What 
that  worst  may  be  no  one  knows ;  but  the  bishop  sends 
you  health  and  benediction  in  the  Lord ;  and  not  doubt- 
ing of  your  crown,  he  bids  you  remember  him  when 
you  shall  liave  entered  into  rest." 

A  slight  paleness  overspread  the  countenance  of  the 
old  priest  as  tliese  words  reached  his  ear ;  l)ut  it  ])a^sed 
in  a  moment,  and  raising  liis  eyes  he  exclaimed, 
"0  my  dear  and  well-beloved  Master,  for  fourscore 
years  and  more  Thou  hast  done  good  things  unto  me, 
and  now  thou  dost  suffer  me  to  give  Thee  all  that  re- 
mains of  this  miserable  life.  Blessed  be  Tliy  Holy 
Name."  Then  turning  to  the  youth  he  said,  "  Blessed 
be  thou  of  the  Lord,  my  son,  for  tlie  good  tidings  thou 
Iiast  brought  me  this  day.  Return  to  Eugenius  by  the 
♦  w  ay  of  the  sea,  that  thou  mayest  escape  the  hands  of 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  TYPASUS.         171 

the  barbarians;  and  tell  him,  by  the  grace  of  God,  we 
will  redeem  his  word,  that  the  beacon  which  has  been 
kindled  in  the  desert  waste  shall  be  caug'ht  and  an- 
swered on  the  towers  of  Typasus ;  and  men  shall  know 
and  own  that  He  is  God  who  g-iveth  victory  to  the 
weak  and  contemptible  tliing-s  of  this  world.  And  now 
depart  quickly,  ray  son,"  he  said,  laying-  both  liands  on 
the  head  of  the  youth,  who  knelt  in  speechless  emo- 
tion to  receive  his  parting*  blessing*.  "It  seemeth 
to  me  that  the  sun  will  soon  rise,  which  sliall  not 
set  until  thou  hast  given  thy  best  heart's  blood  for 
thy  Lord.  But  the  time  is  not  yet ;  therefore  depart 
in  peace,  and  do  my  bidding-  with  the  holy  bishop. 
Fai-ewell."    * 

Day  dawned  over  the  fair  city  of  Tvpasus,  but 
found  it  not  as  the  sun  had  set  upon  it.  In  the  dead 
of  the  nig-ht  the  furious  tramp  of  tlie  wild  undisciplined 
troops  of  Vandal  barbarians  announced  to  the  devoted 
band  that  the  hour  of  their  trial  had  arrived.  It  found 
them  prepared  and  watching.  It  had  been  agreed  that 
three  strokes  of  the  bell  sliould  assemble  them  all  in  the 
house  where  they  were  wont  to  celebrate  the  Divine 
Mysteries ;  and  the  old  priest  and  the  subdeacon  Re- 
paratus  kept  watch.  The  solemn  signal  sounded  about 
the  hour  of  midnight,  and  they  had  scarcely  collected 
all  that  remained  of  the  inhabitants  of  Typasus  ere  the 
armed  barbarians  poured  in  at  the  city  gates,  and  in  a 
moment  seemed  to  fill  the  strec/is  aiid  the  air  jvith  their 
cries  and  blasphemous  imprecations ;  hxmdreds  came, 
and  thousands  followed,  to  sieze  this  helpless  band  of 
Christian  heroes.  It  seemed  as  though  Iluneric  hoped 
by  the  mere  multiplication  of  animal  strength  to  sub- 
due tliat  si)iritual  energy  and  force  which  had  so  often 
{)roved  too  miich  for  him.  They  soon  discovered  the 
ittle  assemblv  of  Catholics,  and  drove  them  mercilessly 
before  tlieui  to  the  forum  outside  the  gates.  "  Even  so 
He  paspod  bcvnnd  thn  gatp  of  .TerusaleTU,"  snid  the 
solemn  voice  of  tlie  priest,  as  urged  by  th.e  pitiless  goad- 


172  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

ing;  of  the  swords,  their  ears  stunned  with  the  blasphe- 
mies and  insults  sliouted  ai-ound  them,  some  of  the 
weaker  sort  stumbled  and  fell.  As  soon  as  they  reach- 
ed the  forum  they  were  fastened  all  tog-ether  in  the 
midst  with  thick  ropes ;  a  strong  band  of  horsemen 
was  left  to  guard  the  place  till  morning  dawned,  and 
the  rest  of  the  Vandals  dispersed  throughout  the  city 
to  spend  what  remained  of  the  night  in  revelry  and 
feasting.  Meantime  the  confessors  received  the  last 
words  of  reconciliation  and  blessing  from  their  pastors  ; 
they  strengthened  one  another  for  the  fiery  trial  which 
awaited  them ;  they  gave  each  other  the  kiss  of  peace, 
and  sang  their  "Nunc  dimittis"  with  joy.  As  the 
sun  rose  gloriously  out  of  the  sea,  they  saluted  it  with 
a  hymn  of  triumph,  as  the  dawning  of  that  happy  day 
which  should  see  them  suffer  for  Christ.  About  the 
hour  of  Prime  the  forum  was  surrounded  with  their 
eager  persecutors;  and  it  was  with  great  difficult}^  that 
the  chief  of  the  band  secured  silence  for  a  moment  with 
a  flourish  of  the  wild  unmusical  horns  they  were  accus- 
tomed to  use  in  battle.  Then  riding  slowly  into  the 
arena,  he  shouted,  "  Citizens,  the  children  of  the  north 
deal  not  in  many  words.  One  change,  and  one  onlv,  of 
life  and  liberty  and  honour  lies  before  you.  Submit 
to  the  bishop  whom  Huneric  by  rightful  authority  has 
placed  over  you ;  deliver  up  the  fellow  who  has  dared 
to  act  as  your  priest;  consent  only  to  be  baptised 
amongst  us,  and  you  shall  be  received  like  brotlicrs, 
and  Hun(^-ic  Avill  show  he  knows  how  to  treat  his 
friends,  xhis,  of  his  mercy  and  gi*eat  clemency,  he 
offers  once;  he  never  offers  mercy  twice."  There  was 
not  a  moment's  pause — clear  and  strong  went  up  the 
voice  of  that  united  band,  "  We  were  baptised  in  the 
faith  of  the  Catholic  Church,  and  in  her  bosom  we  will 
die.  For  Clirist  is  very  God,  and  the  virgin  Mother 
of  God  stood  beneath  the  cross  of  her  Son."  There 
rose  a  sound  from  the  surrounding  soldiery  like  the 
growl  of  a  Avild  beast;  scarcely  could  their  commanders 
hold  thcin  l)ack  from  darting  on  their  jirey,  and  tearing 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  TYPASUS.         173 

them  to  pieces.  "  Do^ !"  shouted  the  chief  through 
the  tumult,  "  hear,  then,  the  too-merciful  decree  of  Kui- 
neric.  Your  hlasphemous  tongues  shall  be  torn  out  by 
the  roots,  and  your  rig-ht  hands  cut  off,  and  dogs  shall 
devour  them  before  your  eyes."  More  he  would  have 
said,  but  the  roar  of  the  angry  multitude  drowned  his 
words.     Every  semblance  of  order  vanished. 

A  troop  of  ruffians  appointed  for  the  purj)Ose  rushed 
into  the  place.    They  seized  them  as  they  stood,  and, 
without  any  ])reparation,  beg-an  the  work  of  butchery. 
The  old  priest  was  the  first  victim.     lie  was  violently 
seized  by  the  hair  and  hurled  to  the  ground  ;  and  as  he 
meekly  stretched  out  his  right  hand  to  the  gleaming 
axe  of  the  barbarian,  he  murmured,  "Holy  Father, 
grant  me  only  in  that  day  to  sa}'.  Of  those  whom  Thou 
hast  given  me  I  have  lost  not  one."     The  Vandal  then 
knelt  upon  his  breast,  and  spitting  in  his  face,  pulled 
the  tongue  out  by  the  roots  with  such  terrific  force,  that 
it  is  marvellous  life  remained.    And  so  it  went  on.   The 
subdeacon  Reparatus  was  the  next,  uttering  his  con- 
fession of  faith  while  the  torturer's  hand  was  in  his 
mouth,  till  all  those  noble  confessors  lay  prostrate  in  a 
Red  Sea  of  blood ;  their  mutilated  members  lying  all 
around  them,  sometimes  cast  to  the  dogs  by  their  savage 
foes.     And  now  even  tlwy  seemed  satiated.     Human 
nature  seemed  laid  as  low  as  Iniman  hands  could  fhrust 
it.     Speechless,  bleeding,  mutilated,  what  more  could 
those  well-nigh  lifeless  bodies  do  .■'  wha V  more  could  ' 
be  feared  from  them  ? — so  at  least  their   oeigecutors 
thought;    and  preparing  to  leave  them  to  xn^'  fate, 
the  foremost,  giving  a  contemptuous  kick  to  th%  pros- 
trate  form   of  Ileparatus   tlie    subdeacon,   exchumed, 
"  Ha,  blasphemer  !  thou  art  silenced  once  and  for  ever 
now  :  why  stand  ye  not  wp  nnd  jircach  as  of  old,  of  a 
God  dying  on  a  cross,  and  a»v()inan,  the  motlier  of  a 
God  't    Clioice  witnesses  are  ye  t'"\ly^  ^y^9S  there  speec' 
less,  of  the  divinity  of  your  CliJ^sV"     Reparatus  k  ^ 
up  :  soft,  low,  and  clear  arose  tVmvonl^^ui  his  lips, 
*'  I  believe:"'  and  tlicn  a  clioruAli^^^oiiied  in  from 


174  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

that  prostrate  band,  finishing*  the  sentence,  "  The  Chnsfc 
is  very  God  of  very  God;  and  Mary  the  Mothei  of 
God  stood  beneath  the  cross  of  her  Son."  Then  as 
the  mig'hty  marvel  flashed  tipon  their  minds,  a  cry, 
strong,  thrilling,  but  most  musical,  burst  from  their  lips, 
"Alleluia,  alleluia  to  the  Lamb  who  sitteth  on  the 
throne ;  He  hath  done  all  tilings  well;  He  maketh  both 
the  deaf  to  hear  and  the  dumb  to  speak."  Earth  and 
heaven  and  hell  stood  attentive  as  that  wondrous  song 
went  up.  Huneric's  fierce  barbarians  fled  in  wonder 
and  amaze  ;  and  hour  after  hour  the  confessors  knelt  on 
the  sj)ot  of  their  torture,  g'iving"  God  thanks  for  the 
miraculous  gift  He  had  vouchsafed  that  day.  Their 
sound  went  forth  into  all  lands.  Constantinople,  and 
the  Isles  of  the  Sea,  and  the  fair  fields  of  Fi-ance,  were 
blessod  by  the  presence  of  these  wondrous  witnesses  of 
the  truth;  and  ever  as  the  ''Credo"  came  from  their 
lips,  it  citrried  conviction  to  the  hearts  of  all  who  heard 
them,  of  the  might  of  God's  power,  and  the  strength  of 
His  Church. 

Years  passed  on  :  the  career  of  Eugenius  was  still 
bright  with  saintly  deeds  and  xmfailing  perseverance. 
In  long  exile,  in  imprisonment,  under  every  kind  of 
contumely,  with  his  head  laid  upon  the  block  and  the 
axe  gleaming  over  him,  he  was  still  tlie  same, — the 
unslirinking  confessor  of  that  precious  faitli,  dearer  to 
him  than  life.  Still  it  seemed  as  though  the  yearning- 
longing  of  his  soul  miglit  not  be  gratified ;  he  was  to 
live  and  suffer,  not  to  die.  A  winter  night  hod  set  in 
drearily;  the  holy  bishop  sat  alone  in  a  rough,  rude  hut, 
which  scarcely  olffrful  any  I'csistance  to  the  piercing 
blast  which  swej)t  througli  it  from  tlie  mountains.  The 
wide  desert  country  of  Tripolis  lay  round  him.  He  was 
a  prisoner  in  tlie  hands  of  Anthony,  an  Arian  liisjiop, 
who  made  his  exile  (Jiie  unvarying  round  of  sullorings, 
to  which  his  eag'cr  love  of  tlie  Cross  continually  added 
■acre.  He  was  writing  by  the  dim  lamp,  when  suddenly 
a  mystei'ious  awe  and  terror  lell  upon  him,  for  whicli  lie 
could  not  account.  "The  Evil  One  is  busv,"  he  muttered 


THE  MIRACLE  OF  TYPA8US.  176 

to  himself;  and  leaving  his  writing,  he  betook  himself 
to  prayer.  It  was  no  wonder  that  the  pastor  should 
suffer  and  fear  exceedingly,  for  that  night  two  stai-s 
had  fallen  iVoni  heaven.  The  next  night  the  door  of 
the  hut  was  softly  opened,  and  Reparatus  the  sub- 
deacon  knelt  before  him.  He  spoke  no  word,  and  the 
strong  man's  face  was  wet  with  tears.  "Speak,  my 
son,"  said  the  bishop ;  "  is  Eugenius  so  little  used  to 
suffer,  tliat  thou  fearest  to  tell  thy  tidings?"  Re- 
paratus lifted  up  liis  face,  and  spoke  in  the  low  tone  of 
one  whose  heart  is  torn  by  .every  word  he  utters : 
"  The  lamps  of  the  sanctuary  are  defiled,  and  their 
light  is  gone  out  in  utter  darkness.  The  two  confes- 
sors whom  you  wot  of  at  Tripolis  have  fallen  into  deadly 
sin,  and  they  are  speechless.  In  their  mif^ery  they  have 
fled  away  into  the  desert,  and  we  have  come  to  ask 
counsel  of  your  holiness."  The  bishop  clasped  both 
his  hands  over  his  face,  and  bowed  it  on  the  table 
before  him ;  and  when  he  raised  it,  the  trace  of  agony 
left  upon  it  was  deeper  than  that  left  by  years  of  exile 
and  suffering.  He  rose  and  gathered  his  mantle  round 
him,  as  though  he  would  have  started  instantly  to  seek 
the  lost  sheep ;  and  then  the  remem])rance  of  his  im- 
prisonment came  upon  him,  and  he  sat  down  again  and 
wept.  At  last,  recovering  his  calnmess,  he  said,  "  Let 
prayer  be  made  for  them  throughout  all  the  Churches, 
that  the  mercy  of  God  may  In-ing  them  to  repentance: 
and  do  you,  my  son,  bid  tliose  of  our  brethren  who  re- 
main stedfast  take  heed  lest  they  fall.  Let  them  count 
that  forgiven  them  from  which  they  have  been  pre- 
served through  grace;  and  for  that  in  which  they  have 
not  been  tried,  let  them  walk  heedfully,  and  be  instant 
in  prayer." 

Eugenius  died  at  last  in  exile,  full  of  good  works, 
and  in  a  monastery  which  he  himself  had  founded. 
Perhaps,  as  he  looked  back  upon  all  the  varied  suffer- 
ings of  his  long  and  agitated  life,  the  agony  of  that  night 
was  the  only  one  which  seemed  woi-th  remembering. 
But  the  tears  which  the  saints  of  God  weep  for  the 


176  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

sins  of  others  shall  all  be  wiped  away  in  the  morning 
of  the  resurrection.* 


XXV. 

THE  DEMON-PREACHER. 

There  was  in  a  town  of  Italy  in  the  early  part  of  the 
14th  century  a  convent  of  Franciscan  monks,  who 
followed  the  inile  of  their  holy  founder  ii^its  utmost 
strictness.  The  spirit  of  Franci§  seemed  to  he  alive 
again  among  his  children,  so  rigidly  did  they  adhere  to 
the  constitutions  he  had  left  them,  and  specially  to  the 
religious  poverty  which  he  had  loved  and  chosen  as  his 
bride.  Never  had  they  departed  from  that  law  which 
sent  them  daily  from  house  to  house,  be"*ging  the  alms 
of  the  faithful  as  tlieir  only  support.  You  might  meet 
them  every  day,  ti-eading  barefoot  through  the  dirty 
streets  in  their  ])oor  rough  habits,  carrying  a  coarse 
bag  on  their  backs  to  receive  the  scraps  of  food  which 
Bome  would  give,  who  were  too  poor  to  ofter  more ;  or 
driving  the  convent  ass  before  them,  laden  with  the 
wood-chips  they  had  gathered  togetlier.  Pictures  they 
were  of  that  meek,  patient,  suffering  spirit  which  is 
the  heritage  of  their  order ;  and  yet,  for  all  their  low- 
liness and  poverty,  they  cairied  about  with  them  a  cer- 
tain air  of  spirituality  that  made  you  feel  disposed 
to  uncover  as  tliey  passed,  for  tliey  bore  back  your 
imagination  to  Judea  and  the  streets  of  Jenzsalom,  and 
filled  you  with  tlie  thoughts  of  One  who  was  the  first 
to  stamp  the  mark  of  holiness  upon  the  abjection 
they  imitated  so  well.     Now,  at  the  time  of  which  we 

*  'l"he  trutli  of  tiio  miracle  rocordcd  above  is  as  well  ascer- 
tained as  any  fact  in  history.  It  has  recently  been  critically 
examined,  and  the  proofs  thrown  to;:^ether,  by  Victor  du  Ikich, 
of  the  Society  of  Jesns.  The  facts  of  the  Vandal  persecution 
in  Africa  are  too  well  known  to  require  any  niUhentication  here. 


THE  DEMON-PREACH  EH.  177 

Sj)eak,  the  inhabitants  had  lost  something  of  that  fer- 
vent charity  and  devotion  that  had  made  them  at  first  so 
ready  witli  their  alms  when  the  friar's  little  box  was 
offered  at  their  door.  They  were  growing-  rich,  and 
their  hearts  were  narrowing ;  and  often  the  poor  Fran- 
ciscans were  driven  away  with  curses  and  abuse,  and 
many  a  hard  word  was  levelled  against  the  *'  idle  men- 
dicant." Still  tliC}'  lived,  hardly  enough,  yet  con- 
tentedly ;  contempt  and  ill-treatment  were  like  a  sweet 
savour  to  their  scanty  food ;  and  they  never  thou^'ht  of 
complaining  at  what  seemed  as  much  a  j)art  ot  their 
state  as  the  habit  that  they  wore. 

Now  this  resignation  and  lowliness  of  spirit  were 
very  displeasing  to  the  great  enemy  of  souls,  who  eyed 
these  poor  despised  friars  of  Lucca  as  the  greatest  ad- 
versaries he  possessed  in  the  town.  He  determined, 
therefore,  on  making  a  powcrfid  effort  to  shake  their 
constancy  and  endurance ;  and  in  order  to  effect  this, 
to  shut  the  hearts  of  the  citizens  yet  more  against 
them,  by  temptation  of  avarice  and  selfishness,  which 
he  knew  well  enough  were  the  likeliest  to  prevail,  and 
could  scarcely  fail  of  success.  His  desigms  answered 
as  he  expected  :  the  })eople  of  the  town  became  gi"a- 
dually  more  and  more  hardened  against  the  fnars :  and 
the  very  appearance  of  one  of  them  in  the  street  was 
a  signal  for  every  door  to  be  closed.  At  lengtli  the 
alms,  which  were  tlieir  only  resource,  entirely  failed, 
and  the  distress  of  the  brethren  became  excessive. 
There  was  one  of  tlie  citizens  named  Louis,  the  richest 
man  in  the  town,  who  had  lately  married  a  young  and 
tu'tuous  wife,  and  to  his  door  tlie  fatlier-guardian 
directed  the  last  apjieal  for  assistance  to  be  made ;  for 
Octavia  (such  was  the  name  of  the  mercliant's  Avife,) 
was  known  to  entertain  iriendly  and  charitable  fceling-s 
for  the  order,  and  bad  never  yet  allowed  tlie  friars  to 
go  away  without  giving  tlioni  some  trifie  i'or  the  love 
of  God. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  wlien  the  poor  brother  wliose 
charge  it  was  to  beg  lor  alms  knocked  at  the  door  of 

N 


173  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

Louis's  house.  He  bad  been  on  foot  for  many  hours, 
and  bis  ba^  was  still  empty;  and  be  felt  weary  and 
discourag-ed.     It  was  a  timid  knock  that  be  g^ave;  and 

Eerhaps  the  faintness  of  its  echo  told  the  master  of  the 
ouse  what  kind  of  visitor  was  standing  at  his  gate; 
for  when  the  door  opened,  and  the  g-ood  friar  raised  his 
eyes  from  the  ground,  half  in  hopes  to  meet  the  kind 
looks  of  Octavia,  he  saw  that  the  merchant  Louis  him- 
self stood  before  him,  and  in  no  gentle  mood,  to  judge 
from  bis  knit  brow,  and  the  quick  rough  movement  of 
his  hand. 

"  What  brings  you  here,  friiir  V  he  said,  with  a 
contemptuous  sneer ;  "■  back  to  your  convent  and  pray, 
as  is  your  trade;  or  if  that  suits  not  your  holinesses, 
why,  work  like  honest  men ;  we  will  have  no  vagrants 
here." 

"May  it  please  you,  good  sir,"  replied  the  trembling 
friar,  "I  thought  to  see  the  Lady  Octavia.  It  has 
pleased  our  Lord  to  try  us  during  this  last  week  as 
seems  good  to  Him,  and  none  of  us  have  broken  fast 
this  day  ;  but  you  will  scarce  refuse  to  help  us  for  His 
love ;"  and  he  held  out  his  little  box  with  a  hesitating 
and  pitiful  glance. 

"The  Lady  Octavia  forsooth  !"  returned  the  other; 
"  let  her  look  well  to  it  ere  she  have  aught  to  say  to 
you.  Begone,  I  say;  for  I  make  not  my  money  in 
order  to  throw  it  after  all  the  beggars  that  may  choose 
to  hang  about  my  gate.  Begone,  and  fast  if  you  will ; 
you  are  ever  ready  to  tell  us  it  is  jjrofitable  to  our 
souls."  He  turned,  and  would  have  shut  the  door; 
but  the  friar  made  another  attempt  to  speak. 

"Good  sir,"  he  said,  "  I  beseech  you  to  be  patient; 
we  have  verily  toiled  all  the  day,  and  have  taken 
nothing;  send  me  not  away  empty,  and  God  will  i-e- 
ward  you  for  your  charity,  even  as  though  you  did  it  to 
Himself.  The  Lady  Octavia  hath  ofttimes  bidden  xts 
ask  freely  when  we  were  in  need ;"  but  his  words 
«<']•('  intemij)ted  by  the  heavy  blow  of  a  stick. 

"  Say  that  name  again,  and  I  will  send  you  home 


THE  DEMON-PHEACHKIl.  179 

with  broken  bones  to  fill  yonr  bag-,"  was  the  angry  i-e- 
plv.  "  Here,  good  neigiiboni-s,  help  me  to  drive  this 
fellow  to  his  hole  again;"  and  at  his  wortls  the  by- 
standei-s,  who  had  g-athered  together  at  the  sound  "of 
the  altercation,  ]>ressed  closer  round  the  person  of  the 
friar,  and  began  to  hoot  and  clamour  after  him  as  he 
moved  away,  whilst  some,  bolder  than  the  rest,  threw 
mud  and  stones  upon  him,  bidding  him  carry  them 
back  to  the  convent  to  fill  his  bag.  And  as  he  passed 
along,  the  crowd  grew  every  moment  more  numerous 
and  angry,  till,  when  they  came  to  the  convent-giites, 
it  was  a  hard  matter  for  the  poor  friar  to  eifect  his 
entrance,  without  receiving  serious  injury  from  some  of 
those  who  pressed  about  him. 

That  evening-  the  friars  went  indeed  to  their  refec- 
tory, but  it  was  not  to  eat.  They  sat,  with  heavy 
hearts  and  downcast  eyes,  whilst  one  of  them  read 
aloud,  as  was  their  custom  ;  and  the  tables  were  covered 
as  usual,  but  there  was  not  a  morsel  of  bread.  And  the 
next  day  things  were  worse,  for  the  riot  of  the  previous 
evening  had  roused  the  attention  of  the  governor  of  the 
town;  and  he  came  to  the  convent,  and  tried,  piirtly 
with  threats  and  i)artly  with  persuasions,  to  induce  the 
brethren  to  abandon  a  ])l:ice  where  they  had  become 
the  object  of  popular  dislike,  and  where  their  presence 
only  disturbed  the  ])ub]ic  quiet.  The  courage  of  many 
"of  the  friars  was  fast  failing  them ;  tlioy  made  a  lair 
show  to  the  govcjrnor,  but  as  soon  as  his  back  was 
turned,  the  general  feeling  of  discontent  and  despon- 
dency began  to  manifest  itself. 

"  We  had  done  better  to  have  accepted  lands  like 
other  of  our  communities,"  said  one.  "  Our  father  Fran- 
cis meant  not  that  his  children  should  perish  for  their 
kee])ing  of  the  dead  letter." 

"It  were  well  to  sell  the  silver  vessels,"  said  an- 
other; "  perchance  this  trouble  comes  on  us  for  over-rich- 
ness in  our  church  furniture  :  if  we  be  sons  of  ])Overty, 
wooden  vessels  will  serve  our  turn,  and  befit  us  be-^t.  ' 


180  CATHOLIC    LEGENDS. 

The  father-guardian  heard  it  all,  and  knew  not  how  to 
answer. 

'^Know  you  not,  my  cliildrcn,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  that  we  may  neither  retain  lands,  nor  sell  any  goods 
for  our  own  maintenance,  without  breaking'  those  twenty- 
five  precepts  which  our  father  l(?ft  on  us,  and  which 
bind  us  under  mortal  sin  ?  Fear  not  for  the  future ; 
for  God  Himself  has  surely  promised  His  help  to  them 
that  keep  the  same ;  and  His  promises  are  not  void." 
But  thoug-h  he  spoke  thus,  the  brothers  could  hear  in 
the  tremour  of  his  voice  that  his  heart  was  not  wholly 
with  his  words ;  his  confidence  was  faltering;  with  the 
rest ;  and  the  triumph  of  the  devil  seemed  as  thoug;h  it 
were  soon  to  be  complete. 

And  he  knew  it.  He  was  there  in  the  midst  of 
those  fearful  failing  hearts,  terrifying-  them  and  tempt- 
ing- them, — filling-  them  with  a  strang-e  unaccountable 
dread,  by  the  imseen  influence  of  his  presence.  And  as 
they  3'ielded  to  the  cowardly  sug-g-estions  he  was  whis- 
pering- in  their  ear,  he  was  every  moment  g-aining-  more 
and  more  power  over  their  hearts.  He  was  then  watch- 
ing them  with  an  infernal  joy ;  btit  the  joy  was  very 
short :  it  was  broken  by  a  lig-ht  that  glanced  across  his 
vision;  and  a  voice  sounded  in  his  ears, "whose  echoes 
were  well  known  to  him,  and  filled  him  with  the  old 
anguish,  and  reminded  him  of  his  conquest  and  defeat. 
It  was  the  voice  of  Michael.  "  Fallen  Star  of  the' 
Morning,"  said  those  angelic  tones,  "wherefore  art 
thou  here  ?  I  come  to  drive  thee  hqnce,  and  once  more 
to  humble  thy  pride." 

"Thou  mayest  do  thy  will,"  returned  the  malignant 
spirit;  "but  I,  too,  have  had  mine:  there  is  not  one 
of  all  these  friars  but  has  done  me  good  service  this 
day,  for  they  have  doubted  God's  woi-d  and  inisti-usted 
His  promise.  I  am  well  content  to  go,  and  leave  them 
thus." 

"  But  not  tlius  shalt  thou  leave  them,  0  perverse 
and  evil  serpent,"  returaed  the  archangel :  "  if  tliou  hast 


THE  DEMON-PREACHER.  181 

done  thy  work,  thou  shalt  also  undo  it ;  thine  own  hps 
shall  recall  these  poor  children  who  have  erred  throug-h 
weakness,  and  shall  brin^  Louis  also  to  a  better  mind, 
and  shall  restore  chai'ity  to  the  hearts  of  the  citizens ; 
yea,  so  that  of  their  own  will  they  shall  build  another 
convent  within  these  city  walls,  where  God  shall  be 
served  and  praised,  and  the  nile  of  Francis,  which  thou 
so  hatest,  shall  be  strictly  kept.  This  is  the  decree  of 
the  Most  Hig-h,  who  changeth  not." 

The  demon  gnashed  his  teeth.  "  I  am  no  preacher," 
he  ci-ied ;  "  and  I  fi^ht  not  ag'ainst  mine  own  house, — 
least  of  all  will  I  do  work  for  that  Francis  of  whom 
you  speak,  for  lie  was  ever  my  deadhest  enemy." 

"  Therefore  is  it  given  thee  as  a  punishment  for  thy 
malice  to  do  even  as  he  would  do  were  he  again  on 
earth,"  replied  Michael ;  "  and  thou  must  obey.  Thou 
shalt  take  the  form  of  one  of  his  friars,  and  shalt  enter 
the  house;  and  good  words  shall  ilow  from  thy  lips 
ag-ainst  thy  will;  and  thoii  shalt  recall  the  friai's  to 
trust  and  confidence,  and  shalt  reproach  them  for  the 
shameful  yielding  of  their  hearts ;  and  shalt  streng-then 
them  with  holy  speech  and  words  of  comfort.  Alore- 
over,  thou  shalt  thyself  procure  them  the  means  which 
they  lack,  so  that  their  sufterings  shall  cease,  and  they 
shall  have  wherewith  to  feed  the  poor  at  their  gates  as 
of  yore:  and  so  shalt  thou  learn  well  what  it  is  to  fight 
against  God  and  His  saints." 

Tiiere  was  a  knock  at  the  convent-gate,  and  the 
porter  opened  it  timidly,  for  he  scarcely  knew  what  to 
expect.  A  monk,  dressed  in  the  rough  habit  of  the 
order,  stooil  without ;  but  it  was  not  one  of  the  coiinnu- 
nity,  and  the  good  friar  did  not  recollect  ever  to  have 
seen  him  before.  A  singular  m:ijt'sty  of  bearing  might 
be  discerned  even  througli  that  ])oor  despisetl  garb  of 
pov(;rty, — something  too  mucli  of  the  air  of  command, 
as  some  might  have  tliought;  but  yet  the  grandeur  and 
nobleness  of  his  aspect,  and  the  bright  ilosh  of  liis  eye, 
gleaming  beneath  the  thick   hood  covering   his  face, 


182  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

seemed  to  compel  respect.     "  I  would  speak  with  th 
father-guardian,"  he  said;   and  the  tone  of  his  voict 
was  signally   musical.      The   porter  bowed   in   silent 
wonder,  and  led  him  to  the  presence  of  the  assembled 
religious,  who  were  in  the  act  of  making  their  final 
preparations  for  removal. 

"  Deo  gratias,  my  brethren,"  was  his  salutation ;  and 
the  soimd  of  his  voice  startled  them  strangely. 

"  Mother  of  God !"  exclaimed  the  astonished  guar- 
dian, "who  are  you,  brother,  and  whence  do  you 
come?" 

"  I  come  from  very  far,  and  I  was  led  here  by  the 
hand  of  God,"  replied  the  stranger;  "so  very  far  away 
was  I  when  it  was  laid  on  me  to  come  hither,  that 
doubtless  were  I  to  name  it,  you  would  not  know  it ; 
for  it  is  a  country  little  spoken  of,  and  the  sun  itself 
shines  not  on  it  as  on  yours." 

"And  your  name,  good  brother;  you  are  of  our 
oi-der?" 

"I  am  called  Obedientus  Obligatus;  and  I  wear 
your  habit,  as  you  see.  In  old  days,  before  I  put  it  on, 
they  called  me  Cherubino." 

"  Well,  good  brother,"  replied  the  guardian,  "  you 
arc  surely  welcome.  I  would  we  had  auglit  to  offer 
you;  but  the  times  go  hard  with  us,  and  you  have 
chosen  an  untoward  moment  for  your  visit.  The  men 
of  this  city  have  risen  up  ag'ainst  us,  and  will  do  notliing 
for  our  support ;  and  we  are  oven  now  preparing  to  go 
forth  and  seek  new  shelter ;  for  we  fear  lest  if  we  tarry 
hei-e,  we  perisli  for  very  want." 

The  tall  form  of  tlie  strange  friar  assumed  an  air  of 
ret  greater  majesty  as  he  heard  these  words ;  he  pushed 
ack  tlie  cowl,  and  displayed  a  countenance  whicli  struck 
awe  into  all  who  beheld  it.  Tlie  shaven  crown  was 
encircled  by  a  single  ring  of  coal-black  liair ;  tlie  bi'ow 
was  lofty;  and  the  eyes,  deep-sunk  in  tlieir  recesses,  sent 
forth  a  gleam  of  fire,  as  he  g-azed  on  the  guardian  with 
a  look  that  seemed  to  penetrate  into  liis  heart.  His 
face,  too,  was  pale,  and  had  that  look  of  sxiffenng  which 


I 


THE  DEMON-PREACHER.  183 

might  be  worn  by  one  who  ever  bore  about  him  some 
secret  pain;  and  as  he  spoke,  his  lips  assumed  for  a 
moment  a  curl  almost  of  contempt. 

"  0  faithless  and  perverse  generation !"  he  said  at 
length,  "  are  these  the  soldiers  of  their  Lord,  the  sons 
of  him  who  wore  the  wounds  of  the  cnicified,  the 
children  of  the  saints,  and  the  followers  of  maitjrs.' 
Two  days  of  want  have  come  upon  you,  and  where  is 
your  confidence  ?  You  ti-usted  and  prayed  when  God 
gave  you  abundance,  and  were  ready  with  pious  speeches 
and  brave  words  when  the  alms-boxes  came  home  full ; 
and  now,  after  two  days  of  trial,  your  faith  and  courage 
have  all  fled  away,  and  you  are  ready  to  believe  that 
God's  word,  which  He  promised  to  your  fathers,  is 
about  to  fail !  Therefore  do  you  err  gTievously,  inas- 
much as  you  do  wrong  to  the  truth  and  fidelity  of  the 
Most  High." 

And  as  he  spoke,  an  expression  of  new  pain  shot 
across  his  face. 

"  Saw  you  that  ?"  whispered  one  of  the  younger 
brothers  to  his  nearest  neighbour ;  "  he  is  surely  a 
saintly  soul,  whom  it  grieveth  even  to  speak  of  sin; 
but  he  is  about  to  speak  again.  I  wot  well  the  secrets 
of  our  souls  are  manifest  to  him." 

''  Yea,  they  are  manifest,"  said  brother  Obligatus, 
turning  the  lustre  of  his  sparkling  eyes  lull  on  the  last 
speaker.  ^'  And  thou  who  so  lately  didst  give  tliy 
vows  to  God,  standest  now  before  Him  half  resolved  to 
break  thy  faith,  and  dally  with  the  gilts  and  lands  of 
worldlings,  lest  perchance  thou  shouldst  suffer  too  hard 
an  abstinence  for  thy  delicate  frame.  0  fools  and  slow 
of  heart,  did  ye  not  know  that  sooner  than  one  word  of 
His  shoukl  fail,  the  angels  themselves  would  bring  you 
food .''  nay,  the  very  demons  would  be  forced  to  serve 
you,  and  minister  tu  your  needs." 

'^  My  father,"  said  the  gaiardian,  with  a  low  rever- 
ence, '•'  you  are  all  unknown  to  us,  yet  we  see  well  that 
you  speak  Ijy  the  Spirit  of  God.  We  cannot  resist  or 
gainsay  your  words,  for  they  have  a  strange  power 


184  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

with  them ;  and,  for  my  pai*t,  I  feel  that,  come  what 
may,  I  will  now  die  a  thousand  deaths  ere  I  abandon 
this  house,  or  infring;e  one  letter  of  the  rule  of  Francis." 

"  Nor  I,  nor  I !"  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  brothers. 
"  You  have  conquered,  father,  and  are  to  us  even  as 
an  angel  of  God ;  do  with  us  ns  you  will,  for  we  know 
verily  that  He  speaks  by  your  mouth." 

What  a  moment  for  the  tempter !  for  it  was  even 
he ;  he  saw  how  the  momentary  weakness  of  the  poor 
friars  had  but  been  the  occasion  of  their  g-aining-  a  new 
title  to  the  i'avour  of  heaven,  by  their  quick  penitence 
at  the  first  word  of  exhortation,  (iladly  would  he  have 
retired  from  a  scene  that  only  tortured  him ;  but  brother 
Oblig'atus  had  no  will  of  his  own ;  tliere  was  a  stronger 
power  than  his  compelling-  him  to  say  words  which 
were  not  liis,  and  which  were  an  ag'ony  for  him  to  utter. 
So  covering-  his  face  for  a  moment  with  his  hand  (the 
brethren  thoug'ht  it  was  to  Imle  the  emotion  which 
their  words  produced),  he  continued  : 

"  My  brethren,  God  has  been  ang-ry  ;  but  He  will 
be  appeased  by  your  prayers  and  humiliation.  As  to 
me,  the  task  is  mine  now  to  provide  in  His  name  for 
all  your  wants." 

"  Good  father,"  said  tlie  giiardian,  "  if  you  purpose 
seeking-  alms,  know  that  there  is  none  to  g-ive  tliem  in 
this  town." 

"  Fear  nothing-,"  replied  Father  Oblig-atus ;  "  but 
c-et  you  to  tlie  clioir,  and  cause  tlie  g-atcs  to  be  opened, 
for  t  will  not  return  empty-handed." 

And  now  the  unwilling-  ])rracher  found  himself  com- 
pelled to  g-o  throug-Ji  street  after  street,  stirring-  up  the 
cold  heai'ts  of  all  he  met  by  his  wonderful  eloquence. 
Men  g;athered  after  him,  and  hung-  ujion  Jiis  woi-ds;  they 
felt  that  nothing-  could  resist  the  force  and  mag-ic  of  his 
appeals  for  charity,  and  all  for  the  love  of  God.  The 
love  of  God  !  words  wliich  came  fortli  witli  so  sad  and 
sweet  a  music  from  his  lips,  while  his  very  heart  was 
torn  with  their  utterance.  And  oh,  as  he  felt  forced 
on  to  speak  to  them  of  the  vanity  of  riches,  and  the 


THE  DEMON-PREACHER.  185 

danger  of  that  covetousness  which  takes  the  heart  from 
God,  and  binds  it  like  a  galley-slave  to  Satan, — and  of 
the  pride  and  self-love  that  likens  them  to  devils,  and 
defaces  in  them  the  image  of  the  Most  High,  what  a 
bitter  humbling  thing  it  was !  and  how  he  writhed  and 
stniggled  against  the  hand  that  forced  him  on,  whilst 
men  thought  it  all  but  the  energy  of  one  who  laboured 
for  fit  words  in  which  to  ntter  his  idea,  and  the  zeal 
for  the  salvation  of  souls  which  so  kindled  the  words 
of  the  impassioned  speaker !  The  alms  poured  in  from 
all  sides,  and  he  was  forced  to  take  it,  and  to  carry  the 
heavy  bag  on  his  own  shoulders,  into  which  every 
hand  was  now  eager  to  put  something,  and  so  bring 
his  load  back  to  the  monastery. 

This  went  on  day  after  day ;  the  fame  of  the  won- 
dei-ful  preacher  extended  even  beyond  the  walls  of  the 
city,  and  strangers  crowded  to  see  him  from  all  parts; 
and  when  they  had  once  heard  him,  they  felt  a  new 
spirit  revive  in  their  hearts ;  it  was  a  wonderful  change. 
And  what  was  woi-st  of  all  was  to  have  to  wear  that 
meek,  lowly  look  of  the  poor  Capuchin,  and  to  rattle 
his  little  box,  and  cry,  "  Charity,  my  masters,  charity, 
for  the  dear  love  of  God  !"  and  as  tliey  dropped  tlieir 
coins  into  it,  to  bow  low,  and  promise  prayers  for  his 
good  benefactDrs,  and  to  ask  God  to  bless  them  and 
reward  their  liberality.  At  a  week's  end  the  alms  had 
increased  to  so  enormous  an  amount  tluit  it  was  judged 
fitting  the  surplus  should  be  approi)riated  in  some  way, 
and  the  imiversal  cry  of  the  citizens  Avas  for  a  new 
monastery;  it  seemed  as  though  tl.ey  could  never  now 
be  weary  of  Capuchin  friars^  and  brother  Obligatus 
was  forced  to  go  about  seeking  for  hibourcrs  and  masons, 
urging  tliem  on,  so  tliat  they  woiked  with  extraordi- 
nary raj)idity,  tliey  hardly  knew  how ;  for  tlie  walls 
seemed  to  grow  under  their  liands  with  supernatuml 
speed  whenever  the  brown  frock  of  that  wonderful  friar 
was  seen  standing  near  tlie  spot.  Meanwhile,  the  friars 
themselves  were  not  a  little  perplexed  to  guess  who 
their  strange  helper  could  really  be.     Some  said  it  was 


186  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

Francis  come  back  to  earth  to  help  his  children ;  but 
those  even  who  most  admired  Br,  Obligatus  looked 
doubtfully  on  this  suggestion;  for  with  all  his  holy, 
pious  words,  they  felt  as  though  there  was  a  different 
air  and  cairiage  about  him  from  that  of  the  meek  and 
lowly  founder  of  the  Friai'S  Minor.  The  father-guardian 
kept  a  prudent  silence ;  men  said  he  had  received  a 
divine  revelation  as  to  the  truth ;  and  so  indeed  he  had, 
but  he  did  not  allow  any  word  of  it  to  escape  his  lips. 
Now,  on  a  certain  day  it  chanced  that,  as  he  walked  to 
and  fro  within  the  convent-garden,  he  met  Obligatus 
coming  from  the  new  building;  and  though  usually  he 
did  not  seek  his  company,  vet  this  time  he  could  scarce 
avoid  addressing  him.  lie  was  the  first  to  speak : 
"  Brother,"  he  said,  "  how  goes  on  the  convent  i*  is  it 
well  advanced  ?"  "  It  is  finished,"  said  Obligatus, 
concealing  liis  face  as  he  spoke;  for  lie  had  become  im- 
easy  in  the  guardian's  presence,  and  did  not  much  relish 
the  glance  of  his  clear  grey  eye.  "  How  r"  finished  ! 
why,  it  was  beg-un  but  five  rnontlis  since !"  "  And  they 
have  been  five  years  to  me,"  said  the  demon,  bitterly; 
"nevertheless,  had  I  been  so  permitted,  I  could  have 
done  it  in  five  days."  "  God  does  not  work  miracles 
without  necessity,"  answered  the  guardian  coldly,  for 
he  thought  it  well  not  to  seem  to  know  more  than  others. 
But  Obligatus  saw  that  he  was  discovered;  and  not 
caring  to  dissemble  any  longer,  he  tiu-ned  fiercely 
towards  his  companion,  saying-,  witli  an  impatient  ges- 
ture, "  God  !  always  God  ;  /  could  have  done  it,  I  say. 
I  am  powerful  enough  for  that."  "  1  know  you,"  said 
the  guardian,  "  and  I  know  that  God  permits  your 
presence  here ;  I  know,  too,  tliat  with  all  your  boasted 
power,  you  are  less  strong  than  our  Father  Francis." 
"  He  powei-ful !"  said  Obligatus;  "yes,  when  he  prays; 
a  poor  sort  of  power :  mine  at  least  is  mine  own." 
"  And  yet  you  have  failed ;  the  friars  have  returned 
to  their  fii-st  faith;  tlie  citizens  are  more  devout  and 
liberal  than  before ;  tliere  remains  but  one  task  laid  on 
you  by  heaven  to  be  accomplished,  and  all  j'our  mahce 


THE  DEMON-PREACHER.  187 

will  be  baffled.  Go,  then,  and  convert  the  merchant 
Louis  fi'om  his  gold;  for  it  seems  to  me  that  there  yet 
lies  in  store  for  you  a  great  humiliation." 

In  fact,  the  conversion  of  Louis  was  the  hardest  of 
all  the  tasks  imposed  on  Obligatus.  He  laboured  at  it 
night  and  day,  but  always  without  success.  The  mer- 
chant could  not  refuse  to  see  him,  for  the  friar  Obliga- 
tus was  a  great  man  in  the  town,  the  popular  favounte, 
and  the  confident  of  the  governor  and  the  city  council. 
Moreover,  there  was  that  in  his  manner  which  no  one 
dared  openly  to  affront ;  so  Louis  endured  his  presence 
and  his  exhortations ;  but  he  listened  to  them  unmoved, 
and  his  heart  grew  every  day  harder  and  harder.  At 
length  he  fell  sick;  the  physicians  declared  him  in 
danger  of  death ;  his  wife  hung  over  his  bed,  and  im- 
plored him  now  at  length  to  think  of  his  soul ;  but  still 
he  babbled  of  his  money  and  his  trade,  and  would  not 
hear  of  priest  or  prayer,  and  turned  away  his  head  when 
they  showed  him  the  crucifix :  it  was  a  hopeless  case. 
"  Oh,  would  to  God,"  said  the  weeping  Octavia,  "  that 
the  holy  friar  Obligatus  were  but  here !  Run  for  him,  good 
Beppo,"  she  added,  tuniing  to  an  attendant,  "  and  tell 
him  that  Master  Louis  is  growing  worse ;  and  pray  him 
not  to  delay,  for  there  is  sore  need  of  his  presence."  "  I 
am  here,  my  daughter,"  said  the  deep  voice  of  the  friar 
in  her  ear ;  "  Master  Louis  is  indeed  in  need  of  prayer 
and  holy  words,  for  his  hour  is  come  at  last."  Then 
turning  to  the  sick  man,  his  whole  form  seemed  to 
dilate,  as  he  bui-st  forth  in  one  of  those  strains  of  thril- 
ling eloquence  which  had  so  often  fiiscinated  the  ears 
of  the  people  during  the  last  five  months.  He  spoke 
of  the  soul  and  of  its  loss ;  its  death  tliat  never  dies, 
and  tlie  anguish  of  that  remorse  tliat  comes  too  late,  and 
never  goes  away.  He  spoke  of  the  unquenchable  fire, 
and  the  hair  of  tlie  hearers  bristled  on  their  heads, 
"  That  man  must  surely  have  seen  tlie  things  whereof 
he  speaks,"  they  whispered  ;  "  speak  he  of  heaven  or  of 
hell,  it  is  all  one;  it  is  as  thoiigh  he  gazed  on  them 
with  his  very  eyes."     Yes ;  and  he  spoka  of  heaven — 


188  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

not  enjoyed,  not  possessed — but  of  the  eternal  regret  of 
one  that  had  been  created  to  enjoy  it  and  to  possess  it, 
and  had  once  half  tasted  of  its  happiness,  and  then  had 
lost  it,  and  lost  it  through  his  own  fa^jlt.  Oh,  the  wild 
weeping",  and  mourning,  and  gnashing  of  teeth,  and 
the  cry  of  long  despair  of  that  loss !  How,  as  he 
spoke,  the  doleful  sounds  of  the  eternal  prison  seemed 
to  rise  round  the  bed  of  the  dying  man !  it  was  the  loss 
of  God  whereof  he  spoke,  of  God  the  supreme  beauty, 
the  supreme  truth ;  of  God  the  end  of  all  desires  and  all 
love  (and  the  plaintive  echoes  of  his  voice  seemed  full 
of  an  unspeakable  regret),  all  lost — lost — lost ! 

^'  My  master  is  a  bold  man,"  muttered  Beppo  to  an- 
other attendant ;  "  I  would  not  for  all  his  money-cliests 
that  such  words  as  those  should  be  spoken  over  my 
dying  bed."  But  scarcely  liad  Louis  heard  them,  even 
as  Obligatus  had  uttered  the  last  syllables,  the  death- 
rattle  was  in  his  throat;  and  as  tliat  last  word  "  lost" 
came  forth  from  the  lips  of  the  speaker,  he  gave  one 
convulsive  motion  of  the  hands,  and  fell  back  upon  his 
piUow.  Obligatus  bent  eagerly  over  him ;  he  was  quite 
dead.  "  Mine !"  cried  the  demon  with  a  tone  of  triumph, 
"  mine  own  at  length.    Michael,  thou  art  baffled  now !" 

"Alas!  the  good  friar  is  beside  liimself,"  said  the 
bystanders.  "  Holy  father,  you  have  indeed  done  your 
utmost  with  the  unhappy  man;  we  pray  you  take 
some  rest ;  your  much  speaking  has  ovemTought  your 
strength."  But  as  they  spoke  they  perceived  that  the 
friar  was  wrestling  as  witli  some  strong  power,  which 
forced  him  against  his  will.  Broken  sentences  burst 
from  his  lips :  "  I  cannot — nay,  I  will  not — he  is  mine, 
I  say."  Then  turning  to  those  wlio  filled  the  room, 
"  Follow  me  to  the  Great  Piazza,"  he  said ;  "  I  cannot 
resist  that  voice."  And  so  saying  he  rushed  from  the 
room,  and  into  the  street ;  with  hurried  step  traversed  the 
piaaza,  till  he  came  to  the  spot  where  he  nad  been  wont 
to  address  the  multitudes  who  flocked  to  hear  him. 
The  news  of  what  had  happened  soon  spread  through 
the  place.     "  The  merchant  Louis  has  died  impenitent, 


THE  DEMON-PREACHER.  189 

and  demons  have  carried  oiF  his  soul,"  said  they  one  to 
another  j  "  doubtless,  Father  ObUgatus  hath  witnessed 
the  same,  and  hath  much  on  his  mind  to  speak  to  us ; 
it  will  be  a  rare  discourse."  And  so  curiosity,  the  hope 
of  hearing',  the  well-known  eloquence  of  the  friar  on  so 
terrible  and  stirring  a  subject,  soon  gathered  a  vast 
crowd  that  filled  the  piazza  from  end  to  end. 

Obligatus  stood  up  before  them.  What  kind  of 
words  they  were  he  spoke  we  dare  not  attempt  to  chro- 
nicle ;  but  his  audience  at  least  had  never  heard  the 
like.  How  many  a  sinner  was  roused  from  his  dream 
of  luxuiT  and  ease  by  those  words,  that  seemed  as 
though  they  opened  hell  beneath  his  feet ;  how  many  a 
cold,  indifferent  heart  now  felt  for  the  first  moment 
what  it  was  to  have,  and  to  lose,  a  soul.  Yes,  Louis 
had  indeed  become  the  victim  of  his  own  avarice  and  im- 
piety ;  but  the  loss  of  that  one  soul  was  tlie  conversion  of 
thousands.  And  many  a  man  had  afterwards  reason  to 
thank  God  for  having  witnessed  the  tragedy  of  that 
day,  which  firet  broiight  him  to  penitence,  and  saved 
him  from  a  like  fate. 

The  last  sermon  of  the  demon-friar  was  ended.  He 
knew  the  souls  it  had  lost  him;  and  his  moment  of 
triumph  was  over.  Tearing  off  liis  friar's  habit,  and 
casting  it  from  liim,  he  cried,  "  Francis  !  the  truce  be- 
tween us  is  at  an  end.  I  have  done  thy  work,  and  thou 
hast  conquered."  Then  tm-ning  to  the  astonislied  multi- 
tude, "  Go  to  the  father-g'uardian  of  the  Capuchins," 
he  said,  "  and  to-morrow  lie  will  declare  to  you  what 
these  things  mean ;  but  never  more  will  ye  behold  the 
Friar  Obligatus."  As  he  spoke,  he  disappeared,  men 
scarcely  know  how  ;  nor  was  he  ever  seen  again.  The 
strnng'eness  of  liis  last  words,  and  tlio  casting  away  of 
the  holy  habit,  perplexed  them  sorely,  till  the  truth 
was  declared,  and  then  a  yet  more  solemn  awe  fell 
upon  their  souls ;  nor  has  the  tradition  of  this  event 
ever  been  lost ;  but  far  and  wide,  through  many  a  city 
of  Italy,  and  in  other  lands,  may  still  be  found,  in  broken 
fragments,  the  legend  of  the  Demon-preacher. 


190  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

XXVI. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  THE  HERMIT  NICHOLAS. 

At  the  close  of  the  year  1481,  on  the  eve  of  St.  Tho- 
mas, the  deputies  of  the  free  Confederation  of  Hig-h 
Germany  met  in  full  assembly  at  Stantz,  in  the  canton 
of  Untei-wald.  They  were,  for  the  most  part,  men  who, 
by  their  bravery  and  skill  in  battle,  no  less  than  hj  their 
wisdom  and  prudence  in  time  of  peace,  had  acquired 
great  consideration  among-  their  countrymen;  and  they 
Had  assembled  on  this  occasion  to  deliberate  upon 
matters  of  the  g-ravest  import  to  the  common  weliare. 

At  this  period  the  cities  and  states  of  the  Swiss 
Confederation  were  at  the  height  of  their  prosperity ; 
the  fruit  of  three  memorable  victories  over  the  forces  of 
the  Duke  of  Burg-undy, 

Six  years  had  not  elapsed  since  the  first  of  these — 
that  of  Granson.  In  this  famous  engagement,  the 
Confederates  had  humbled  the  haug'hty  arrog-ance  of 
Charles  the  Bold  :  his  fine  army,  tliree  times  strong'er 
than  their  own,  had  been  cut  in  pieces;  and  this 
hitherto  unconquered  hero,  the  master  of  the  richest 
provinces  on  this  side  the  Alps — the  two  Burgundies, 
Gueldres,  and  almost  all  Belg-ium, — this  warrior,  before 
whom  France  trembled,  and  whom  Lorraine  had  been 
unable  to  resist,  fled  from  the  field  of  battle  with  only 
six  companions.  Four  hundred  pieces  of  artillery,  six 
hundred  banners,  his  ducal  hat,  his  sword  of  state, 
the  three  larg-e  diamonds,  celebrated  throug^h  Eu- 
rope, which  were  destined  at  a  subsequent  period  to 
adorn  the  crowns  of  mighty  potentates; — in  a  word,  a 
camp  which  was  unequalled  in  riches  and  magnificence 
throughout  Ciiristenclom,  and  could  only  be  compared 
to  the  camps  of  the  Turks,  fell  into  the  hands  of  poor 
mountaineers,  who,  with  the  help  of  God,  had  defended 
their  liberty  against  the  cupidity  and  pride  of  a  foreig;n 
foe. 


THE  HERMIT  NICHOLAS.  191 

The  second  battle  took  place  on  tlie  plains  of  Morat. 
Charles  of  Burgundy  was  supported  by  Savoy,  Milan, 
and  Italy.  The  Swiss  had  for  auxiliaries,  Austria,  the 
cities  of  Alsace,  and  Ren6,  Duke  of  Lorraine.  The 
Confederates  fought  with  unabated  heroism,  and  all  the 
might  of  Burgundy  failed  to  overpower  them.  His 
army  was  again  routed  with  enormous  loss,  and  Charles 
fled  a  second  time,  having  with  him  only  thirty  men. 
Tlie  Confederates,  after  the  battle,  fell  on  their  knees  in 
thanksgiving  for  the  success  of  their  arms ;  the  trumpets 
poured  forth  a  joyous  blast;  messengers,  decorated  with 
green  branches,  ran  in  all  haste  through  the  towns  and 
villages,  and  the  bells  rang  out  exulting  peals ;  sounds 
of  triumph  echoed  from  the  depths  of  tlie  valley  to  the 
solitary  chalet  at  the  foot  of  those  etei-nal  glaciers, 
where  dwell  the  chamois  and  the  vulture. 

The  third  of  these  great  battles  was  fought  by  the 
Swiss  near  Nancy.  The  Burgundian,  in  his  despair, 
had  collected  all  that  remained  of  his  forces,  and  having 
on  this  occasion  to  contend  with  troops  superior  to  his 
own,  he  displayed  a  valour  worthy  of  his  name  and 
ancestoi"s.  But  all  his  efforts  were  in  vain;  and  Charles, 
the  last  of  his  house  on  the  throne  of  Burgundy,  was 
once  more  totally  defeated. 

The  reputation  of  the  Swiss  became  so  great  in  con- 
sequence of  tliese  successes,  that  the  most  powerful 
princes  of  Europe  sent  ambassadors  to  their  assemblies, 
and  sought  their  alliance.  At  the  negotiations  held  at 
Zui'ich,  in  1478,  for  concluding  peace  with  Burg-undy, 
were  to  be  seen  envoys  from  the  Emperor  of  Germany, 
the  King  of  France,  the  Archduke  of  Austria,  and 
counts  and  lords  from  far  and  near.  The  Swiss  had 
no  longer  a  single  enemy  to  fear. 

But  notwitlistanding  these  brilliant  victories,  these 
distinguished  marks  of  respect,  and  their  increasing  in- 
ternal prosperity,  the  deputies  of  the  Confederates  as- 
sembled at  Stantz  in  1481  did  not  wear  so  serene  an 
aspect  as  might  have  been  expected.  They  cast  at  one 
^nothe^  dark  and  distrustful  glances;  nnci  none  would 


182  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

have  conjectxu'ed  that  these  were  the  same  men  who,  a 
little  hefore,  had  fought  so  loyally  one  for  the  other, 
and  who  had  owed  the  success  or  their  arms  to  their 
unbroken  unity.  But  the  Swiss  of  that  age  were  men; 
and  the  men  of  that  day  were  little  different  from  those 
of  the  present;  the  very  prosperity  which  God  had 
granted  them  became  their  misfortime.  Their  coffers 
were  fiiU  of  gold ;  but  the  old  manner  of  life,  in  which 
their  fathers  found  strength  and  contentment,  had  be- 
come distasteful  to  them.  The  immense  booty  taken 
from  the  Burgundians,  and  the  payments  made  on  va- 
rious accoimts  by  France,  had  occasioned  large  sums  of 
money  to  circulate  among  tlie  people ;  and  the  Swiss, 
overcome  by  the  seductions  of  gold,  had  lost  sometliing 
of  their  pure  and  disinterested  love  for  their  country. 
The  heart  of  more  tlian  one  old  Confederate  must  have 
bled  to  see  the  ancient  sentiments  of  loyalty  and  the  fear 
of  God  so  visibly  declining  among  the  people;  and 
tlieir  former  simplicity  and  purity  of  manners  giving 
place  insensibly  to  corruption  and  disorder.  The  autlio- 
rities  sought  zealously  to  arrest  the  progress  of  evil. 
But  laws  could  not  long  preserve  their  vigour,  when 
vice  poisoned  tlie  soul  of  the  community.  The  arro- 
gance of  3'outh  no  longer  yielded  the  respect  due  to 
age ;  and  tliis  deterioration  of  manners  threatened  to 
bring  about  the  ruin  of  tlie  country. 

The  minds  of  the  Confederates  lind  been  already  so 
warped  by  jealousy  and  selfishness,  that  the  members 
of  the  assembly  of  Stantz  could  come  to  no  mutual  un- 
derstanding, and  were  unceasingly  embittered  against 
each  other.  There  were  two  parties  in  the  assembly  at 
variance  with  each  other;  that  of  the  towns,  and  that  of 
tlie  country.  The  peasants  of  Uri,  of  Schwytz,  and 
Untersvalden,  cantons  which  gave  birth  to  the  Swiss 
League,  who  pastured  their  flocks  in  safety  in  high  val- 
leys, inaccessible  to  the  enemy,  desired  peace  beyond 
every  thing;  and  distrusted  the  ambition  and  cupidity 
of  the  citizens,  who  would  draw  them  needlessly  into 
interminable  wars.     They  sought  to  maintain  the  Swiss 


THE  HERMIT  NICHOLAS.  193 

Confederation  within  its  ancient  limits,  and  were  not  dis- 
posed to  strengthen  the  opposite  party  by  the  admission 
of  new  towns.  On  tlie  contrary,  the  towns  of  Lucerne, 
of  Berae,  and  of  Zurich  exerted  themselves  to  obtain 
admittance  into  the  Confederation  for  Soleure  and  Fri- 
bourg;  because  they  themselves  lay  exposed  to  the  at- 
tacks of  the  enemy,  Switzerland  not  having  as  yet  any 
natural  frontier;  and  these  towns  had  fought  faithfully 
for  Switzerland  in  the  wars  a^inst  Charles,  and  the 
Confederates  in  the  hour  of  danger  had  promised  to 
admit  them  into  the  league. 

To  this  source  of  discord  was  added  the  envy  ex- 
cited by  the  division  of  the  Burgundian  booty  and  the 
foreign  subsidies.  It  was  in  vain  that  the  cantons  of 
Glarus  and  Zug  sought  to  interpose  their  mediation,  and 
that  meetings  were  held  in  various  places  to  reconcile 
differences.  And  now  the  Confederates  were  assembled 
for  consultation  for  the  last  time  at  Stantz.  The  ani- 
mosity of  party,  however,  was  so  great,  that  after  tlu-ee 
sessions  of  angry  debates,  the  members  rose  with  agi- 
tated countenances,  and  separated  without  taking  leave 
of  one  another,  to  meet  again,  perhaps,  only  in  the  con- 
flict of  civil  war.  That  whicli  neitlier  the  power  of 
Austria,  nor  the  audacious  might  of  Charles  of  Bur- 
gundy, had  ever  been  able  to  accomphsh,  the  Swiss 
were  themselves  in  danger  of  bringing  about  by  their 
internal  dissensions;  ana  the  liberty  and  happiness  of 
their  country  stood  in  tlie  most  imminent  peril. 

These  considerations  filled  all  good  citizens  with 
sorrow  and  alarm ;  and,  amongst  others,  a  cure  of  Stantz, 
named  Henri  Im  Grand,  a  Lucernois,  and  a  man  full 
of  piotv  and  zeal  for  the  good  of  his  country.  As  lie  re- 
flectecl  on  the  danger  which  tlireatened  her,  his  thonglits 
turned  to  the  holy  hermit,  Brother  Nicholas,  of  Kauft, 
"  This  man,"  said  he  to  liimself,  "  lives  in  the  presence  of 
God ;  a  divine  blessing  is  certainly  witli  him  ;  all  honour 
him  as  a  saint ;  he  is,  perhaps,  the  only  man  whose  voice 
will  command  att-ention  from  these  adverse  parties." 
The  man  of  God  rose  up,  took  his  staff,  and  ascending 
o 


194  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

the  valley  of  Enstmosn,  crossed  the  Kemwald  to  tlie 
peaceful  solitude  where  dwelt  the  hermit-saint. 

Let  us  leave  the  good  cur6  to  accomplish  his  journey 
with  the  help  of  God ;  he  has  almost  four  leagues  to 
travel,  and  the  Swiss  leagues  are  a  good  measure ;  and 
while  we  meantime  inquire  who  is  this  Brother  Nicholas, 
and  in  what  manner  a  poor  hermit  in  his  solitude  has 
acquired  such  influence  and  authority. 

The  man  who  at  this  epoch,  not  only  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Switzerland,  but  even  through  Christendom,  was 
known  and  venerated  under  tlie  name  of  Nicholas  de 
Flue,  was  bom  in  the  higher  valley  of  Untens-ald  sixty- 
four  yeai-s  previously  (in  1417),  at  the  time  tlie  bishops 
of  the  Catholic  Church  sat  in  the  Council  of  Constance. 
The  cottage  of  his  parents  was  situated  in  a  peaceful 
and  woody  country,  near  the  high  mountains  of  Sachs- 
len.  Not  far  distant  is  the  beautiful  lake  of  the  four 
cantons,  surrounded  by  smiling  meadows,  and  enamelled 
with  odoriferous  flowers ;  its  waters  are  clear  as  a  mir- 
ror ;  all  manner  of  fish  may  be  seen  sporting  in  its 
depths,  and  every  variety  of  aquatic  plants  floating  on 
its  surface.  From  tlie  crystal  basin  which  laves  their 
foot,  the  mountains  rise  high  into  the  azure  regions  of 
the  air,  and  upon  their  declivity  are  the  pretty  huts  of 
the  shepherds  sheltered  by  dark  forests;  while  grazing 
flocks  give  hfe  to  the  landscape :  the  lofty  summits  of 
these  mountains  are  covered  with  eternal  snows,  and 
penetrate  the  clouds,  towering  far  above  all  surround- 
mg  objects.  Upon  the  shores  of  tlic  lake,  in  the  val- 
leys, and  on  the  hills,  are  cliai'ming  villages,  beautiful 
churches,  and  modest  chapels.  Crosses  in  many  parts 
mark  the  spots  where  a  good  action  has  been  performed, 
or  a  crime  committed;  or  where  the  wild  and  frightful 
aspect  of  nature  makes  the  heart  sliudder  from  the  con- 
sciousness of  gTiilt,  and  cast  itself  helplessly  on  God. 
P'our  cantons,  IJri,  Scliwytz,  Luceine,  and  Unteiwalden, 
the  native  country  of  Brother  Nicholas,  suiround  this 
beautiful  lake;  the  whole  forming  a  magnificent  pano- 


THE  HERMIT  NICHOLAS.  195 

rama  of  mountains,  elevating  the  soul  by  its  grandeur  and 
variety.  It  was  here  that  IS  icholas  de  Flue  was  born ;  in 
one  of  these  solitary  valleys,  where  the  silence  is  broken 
only  by  the  bell  of  the  herd,  the  wild  song  of  the  birds 
of  the  forest,  and  the  murmur  of  Alpine  ton*ents.  He 
was  descended  fi'om  a  race  of  good  and  pious  shepherds, 
in  whom  were  transmitted  from  father  to  son  the  ancient 
virtues  of  the  Swiss,  and  who  enjoyed  during  successive 
centuries  the  esteem  of  their  fellow-countrymen.  His 
parents  had  an  honest  competence;  and,  after  the  ex- 
ample of  their  fathers,  they  adhered  stedfastly  to  the 
true  and  ancient  faith,  respected  the  laws  of  their 
coimtry,  and  brought  up  their  children  in  piety  and 
virtue.  They  tended  their  flocks  with  unwearied  care ; 
and,  after  a  life  of  tranquillity,  fell  asl  ep  in  God,  full 
of  confidence;  for  they  had  walked  before  Him,  like  the 
patriarchs,  to  the  borders  of  Jordan.  The  young  Ni- 
cholas grew  up  beneath  their  salutary  tutelage,  and 
manifested  always  an  obedient  spirit  and  a  love  of  vir- 
tue ;  gentle  and  pious  even  from  the  days  of  his  child- 
hood. It  was  often  remarked  by  those  around  him, 
that  after  tlie  hnrd  labour  of  a  whole  day  in  the  fields, 
when  he  returned  home  in  the  evening,  he  would  dis- 
appear by  stealth  to  pray  in  some  secret  place.  His 
spirit  began.tlnis  early  to  mortify  the  body,  in  order  to 
give  itself  without  distraction  to  elevated  contemplation. 
When  some  one,  out  of  kindness,  warned  him  not  to 
ruin  his  health  in  his  youtli  by  such  severe  fasts  as  he 
wt*  accustomed  to  observe,  he  replied,  with  sweetness, 
that  such  was  the  will  of  God  concerning  him.  Not- 
withstanding his  fervent  and  austere  devotion,  his  de- 
meanour was  cheerful  and  afiiible ;  and  he  discharged 
with  fidelity  all  the  duties  which  his  condition  of  life 
imposed  upon  him.  He  entered  upon  manhood  en- 
dowed with  a  noble  firmness  of  soul,  a  penetniting  in- 
telligence, and  great  purity  of  heart.  In  his  tAventv- 
thinl  year  he  took  arms,  at  tlie  call  of  the  magistrates, 
in  the  (••nTuptiign  ngainst  Zuricli ;  and  again,  fourteen 
yeai's  later,  at  the  time  of  the  occupation  of  Thurgovia, 


196  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

when  he  commanded,  as  captain,  a  company  of  100 
men,  and  manifested  such  Draveiy,  that  his  country 
decreed  him  a  gfold  medal  as  a  recompense.  A  yet 
more  lionourable  circumstance  in  tlie  same  expedition 
was  tlie  saving;  of  the  monastery  of  tlie  valley  of  St. 
Catherine,  near  Diessenhofen,  which  to  this  day  reveres 
him  as  its  deliverer.  It  was  owing*  to  his  exliortations 
that  the  Swiss  relinquished  their  desig-n  of  setting"  fire 
to  the  abbey,  in  order  to  expel  the  enemy,  who  aban-.. 
doned  it  soon  after  of  their  own  accord.  In  battle  he 
carried  his  sword  in  one  hand,  his  chaplet  in  the  other : 
he  showed  himself  at  once  a  fearless  soldier  and  a 
merciful  Christian,  protecting;  the  widow  and  the 
orphan,  and  not  permitting;  the  conqueroi's  to  perpetrate 
acts  of  violence  ag-ainst  tlie  vanquished. 

Arrived  at  manhood.  Nicholas  maiTied,  in  obedience 
to  the  wishes  of  his  parents;  choosing"  from  among*  the 
maidens  of  the  canton  a  virtuous  young'  girl,  named 
Dorothy  W3'syling-.  They  had  ten  children,  five  sons 
and  five  daug-hters,  from  whom  sj)rang"  a  numerotis  and 
honourable  posterity,  whicli  never  lost  the  remerabmnce 
of  its  ancestors. 

Nicholas  was  himself  unanimously  elected  g-overaor 
and  judg-e  of  Obwalden.  His  conduct  in  tliis  important 
post  may  be  gathered  from  wlmt  the  cure,  Henri  Im 
Grand,  his  director  and  fi'iend,  revealed  after  his  death. 
Nicholas  had  one  day  said  to  him  on  this  subject,  "  I 
have  received  from  God  the  gift  of  an  upriglit  spirit.  I 
have  been  often  consulted  in  the  affairs  of  my  country ; 
I  liave  also  pronounced  many  judgments ;  but,  througli 
Divine  grace,  I  do  not  remember  to  have  acted  agninsT; 
my  conscience  in  any  thing;  I  liave  never  regarded 
persons,  nor  have  I  (!ver  (leparted  from  tlie  ways  of 
justice."  The  higli  dignity  of  Landaniman  was  decreed 
liim  })y  the  General  Assembly  several  rimes ;  but  jie 
feared  the  great  resjionsibility ;  and,  without  cloubt,  he 
felt  nlso  that  God  had  reserved  him  for  some  other  and 
greater  thing. 

Nicholas  had  thus  livod   liftv  vcsirs  for  th<?  good 


THE  HERMIT  NICHOLAS.  197 

of  his  country  and  family,  and  esteemed  by  all,  when, 
in  the  year  146?,  he  felt  himself  moved  by  an  ai-dent 
desire  of  being  more  intimately  united  with  God,  in  a 
life  of  entire  separation  fi'om  the  world.  His  eldest 
son,  Jean  de  Flue,  thus  speaks  of  him :  "  My  father 
always  retired  to  rest  at  the  same  time  as  his  children 
and  servants;  but  every  night  I  saw  him  rise  again, 
and  heard  him  praying  in  his  chamber  until  morning. 
Many  times,  also,  he  would  repair  in  the  silence  of  the 
night  to  the  old  church  of  St.  Nicholas,  or  to  other  holy 
places.  These  hours  of  solitude  were  to  him  the  hap- 
piest moments  of  his  life ;  and  the  interior  impiilse  be- 
came even  more  powerful  to  consecrate  the  remainder 
of  his  life  to  the  devout  contemplation  of  eternal  tioiths. 
God  also  favoured  him  frequently  with  miraculous  inti- 
mations of  His  divine  will.  On  one  occasion,  when  he 
went  to  visit  his  flock  at  a  place  called  Berg-natt,  ac- 
cording to  his  wont,  he  knelt  upon  the  grass,  and  began 
to  pray,  when  God  vouchsafed  him  a  consoling  vision. 
He  beheld  a  fragrant  lily,  wliite  as  snow,  come  out  of 
his  mouth,  and  rise  towards  heaven.  Whilst  he  regaled 
himself  with  the  perfume  and  beauty  of  the  flower,  his 
flock  came  gambolling  towards  him,  and  amongst  them 
a  noble  horse.  As  he  turned  to  look,  the  lUy  inclined 
itself  towards  the  horse,  which  advanced  and  drew  it 
from  his  mouth ;  by  which  Nicholas  was  made  to  im- 
derstand  that  the  treasure  to  which  he  should  aspire 
was  in  heaven;  and  if  his  heart  was  not  wholly  detached 
from  the  things  of  earth,  he  would  forfeit  the  possession 
of  the  celestial  joys  reserved  for  him." 

Another  time,  while  engaged  in  the  ordinary  busi- 
ness of  his  house,  he  saw  three  men  approach  him,  of 
venerable  aspect,  one  of  whom  addressed  him  thus  : 

"  Tell  us,  Nicholas,  will  you  put  body  and  soul  into 
our  power?" 

''  I  give  myself  to  none,"  replied  he,  "but  the  Al- 
mighty God,  whom  I  have  long  desired  to  serve  with 
my  soul  and  body." 

At  these  words  the  strangers  turned  with  a  smile 


198  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

one  towards  the  other,  and  the  first  answered :  "  Be- 
cause thou  hast  given  thyself  wholly  to  God,  and  ait 
bound  to  Him  for  ever,  I  promise  that  in  the  70th  year 
of  thine  age  thou  shalt  be  delivered  from  all  the  troubles 
of  this  world.  Remain,  then,  constant  in  thy  resolu- 
tion, and  thou  shalt  carry  in  heaven  a  victorious  banner 
in  the  midst  of  the  armies  of  God,  if  thou  hast  borne 
with  patience  the  cross  that  we  leave  thee." 

Upon  this  the  three  men  disappeared.  These  and 
similar  apparitions  confirmed  him  in  his  resolution  of 
separating-  from  the  world.  At  length  he  disclosed  to 
his  wife  the  desire  of  his  soul,  and  entreated  hei",  for  the 
love  of  God,  to  g'ive  him  permission  to  fulfil  the  voca- 
tion which  God  had  indicated  to  him.  She  consented 
witli  calm  resignation,  and  Nicholas  began  at  once  to 
arrange  the  affairs  of  his  house,  assigning"  to  each  of  his 
children  his  part  of  the  inheritance.  He  then  assembled 
all  his  household, — his  old  father,  70  years  of  a^-e,  his 
wife,  his  children,  and  his  friends :  he  appeared  before 
them  barefoot  and  bareheaded,  clothed  in  the  long  robe 
of  a  [)ilgrini,  with  a  staff"  and  chaplet  in  his  hand ;  he 
thanked  tliem  for  all  the  kindness  they  had  shown  him, 
exhorted  tliem  for  tlie  last  time  to  fear  God  before  all 
things ;  then  lie  g'ave  them  his  blessing  and  departed. 
That  this  separation  was  a  trial  to  him,  was  evidenced 
by  his  frequent  exfu'essions  of  thankfulness  to  God  that 
ite  had  strengthened  him  to  overcome  for  His  service 
the  love  he  bore  to  his  wife  and  cliildren. 

Nicholas  set  out  for  the  place  whither  God  should 
see  good  to  lead  him  with  a  tranquil  heart :  he  would 
not  remain  in  his  own  neighbourhood,  lest  he  should 
become  a  subject  of  scandal,  and  be  regarded  as  an  im- 
postor assuming  an  appearance  of  sanctity ;  at  the  same 
time  he  dreaded  ostentation,  and  endeavoured  to  conceal 
his  gi'eat  piety  as  much  as  possible  from  the  eyes  of 
men.  Crossing  the  fertile  valleys  and  the  verdant 
mountains  of  his  country,  he  ai'rived  at  the  limits  of 
the  Confederation.  When  not  far  from  Aaran,  upon 
the  Hanenstein,  which  then  separated  Burgiindy  from 


TH8  HKRMIT  NICHOLAS.  190 

Switzerland,  at  a  spot  wlience  he  could  see  beyond  the 
fi-ontiers  the  little  town  of  Liechtstall,  he  had  a  remark- 
able \'ision.  The  town,  with  its  houses  and  towers,  ap- 
peared to  him  enveloped  in  flames.  Terrified  with  this 
spectacle,  he  enterea  into  conversation  with  a  peasant 
whom  he  found  in  a  neighbouring"  farm-house ;  and  after 
some  preliminary  discourse,  he  made  known  to  him  his 

Eurpose,  begging  him  to  point  out  a  solitary  spot  where 
e  might  be  able  to  carry  it  into  effect.  This  man 
counselled  him  to  remain  in  his  own  country;  because, 
as  the  Confederates  were  not  always  well  received  in 
other  parts,  he  might  be  unfavourably  regarded,  and  his 
retreat  ]ye  disturbed ;  besides,  there  were  deserts  enough 
in  Switzerland  whei*e  he  might  serve  God  in  peace. 
Brother  Nicholas  thanked  his  host  for  this  good  counsel, 
and  retook  the  same  evening  the  road  to  his  native 
place.  He  passed  the  night  in  a  field  in  the  open  aii*, 
reflecting  on  the  end  of  his  pilgrimage,  and  praying 
God  to  enlighten  him.  Soon  he  fell  asleep,  but  sud- 
denly beheld  himself  surrounded  with  a  bright  light, 
and  it  seemed  to  him  as  though  a  cord  drew  him  to- 
wards his  own  country.  This  supernatural  light  pene- 
trated his  whole  interior,  and  caused  him,  as  he  after- 
wards declared,  a  suffering  as  from  the  sharp  incisions 
of  a  knife.  The  following  moniing  he  rose,  and  went 
the  same  day  without  stopping  as  far  as  Melchthal,  his 
native  place :  he  repaired  to  one  of  his  pastures  called 
tiie  Kluster ;  there  he  made  a  little  hut  of  brandies  and 
leaves  under  a  strong  larch,  in  the  midst  of  thornv 
bushes,  and  remained  without  discovery  till  the  eightli 
day,  neither  eating  nor  drinking,  but  al)sorbed  in  prayer 
and  meditation  on  divine  things.  Some  liun-ters  in 
pureuit  of  game  in  the  forest  first  became  aware  of  his 
retreat,  and  spoke  of  him  to  his  brother  Pierre  de  Flue, 
who  came  to  entreat  him  not  to  suffer  himself  to  die 
witli  hunger  in  so  wild  a  solitude.  Brother  Nieholasj 
begged  him  to  be  without  uneasiness  on  his  account, 
since  he  had  experienced  no  evil  result  up  to  that  time. 
Nevertheless,  that  he  might  not  seem  to  tempt  God,  he 


200  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

sent  secretly  for  the  cur6  of  Kerns,  a  venerable  priest, 
named  Oswald  Isner,  and  acquainted  him  with  the  whole 
case.  This  g-ood  man  gave  tne  following-  testimony  after 
the  hermit's  death,  as  may  be  read  in  the  parish  record 
of  the  year  1488: 

"When  Br.  Nicholas  had  passed  eleven  days  without 
food,  he  sent  for  me,  and  asked  me  whether  he  should 
take  some  nourishment  or  continue  his  trial,  as  he  had 
always  desired  to  be  able  to  live  without  eating-,  in  order 
to  be  more  effectually  separated  from  created  things. 
When  I  saw  and  comprehended  that  this  could  come 
only  from  the  source  of  divine  love,  I  counselled  Bi 
Nicholas  to  persevere  as  long-  as  he  found  himself  able ; 
and  from  this  time  to  the  day  of  his  death,  a  period  of 
more  than  twenty  years,  he  continued  to  dispense  with 
bodily  food.  As  the  pious  brother  was  more  familiar 
with  me  than  with  any  other  person,  I  sought  earnestly 
to  learn  from  him  how  his  strength  was  sustained ;  and 
one  day  he  told  me  in  great  secrecy,  that  when  he 
assisted  at  Mass,  and  the  priest  communicated,  he  re- 
ceived a  strength  \yhich  enabled  him  to  refi-ain  from  all 
other  nourishment," 

When  the  fame  of  this  miraculous  life  spread  abroad, 
people  flocked  from  all  parts  to  see  a  man  whom  God 
nad  so  distinguished,  and  to  convince  themselves  of  its 
reality  by  personal  observation.  It  may  well  be  ima- 
gined that  no  woodsman  in  the  canton  went  to  fell  a  tree, 
no  shepherd  to  visit  his  pastures,  without  seeking  an 
interview  with  this  wonderful  inhabitant  of  the  solitude. 
His  quiet  life  was  in  consequence  so  much  disturbed, 
that  he  determined  to  seek  a  more  isolated  spot.  After 
traversing  several  of  the  wildest  valleys  with  this  in- 
tention, he  beheld  above  a  gloomy  gorge,  down  which 
the  Melch  precipitates  itself  witJi  deafening  roar,  a 
brilliant  liglit  descending  from  heaven.  Obedient  to 
this  indication  of  tlie  will  of  God,  he  built  there  a  little 
hut,  sun-ounded  with  thick  underwood,  situated  only  a 
quarter  of  a  league  from  his  former  house.  But  the 
same  year,  his  neighbours,  the  inhabitants  of  Obwalden, 


THE  HERMIT  NICHOLAS.  201 

edified  by  his  holy  life,  and  knowing-  him  to  be  neither 
an  impostor  nor  a  vain  enthusiast,  built  him  a  chapel 
with  a  small  cell  attached,  and  presented  it  to  him  as  a 
mark  of  their  affection.  Brother  Nicholas  entered  this 
new  dwelling-,  and  continued  there  to  serve  God  in  the 
same  supernatural  life.  Meanwhile  the  renown  of  his 
extraordinary  mode  of  existence  extended  far  and  wide : 
many  were  unwilling  to  believe  that  a  man  could  thus 
live  miraculously  by  the  sole  grace  of  the  Almigphty, 
whilst  others  glorified  God  on  his  behalf. 

It  was  only  on  Sundays  and  festival  days  that  he 
left  his  cell,  and  assisted  with  the  rest  of  the  parishioners 
at  divine  service  in  the  church  of  Sachslen.  Once  a 
year  he  repaired  to  Lucerne  for  the  great  procession, 
and  to  visit  the  celebrated  places  of  pilgrimage,  as  well 
as  those  to  which  the  Church  had  granted  indulgences. 
When  the  journey  became  too  fatiguing  on  account  of 
his  advanced  age,  and  the  gifts  of  pious  persons  enabled 
him  to  procure  the  services  of  a  priest,  he  heard  Mass 
daily  in  his  own  chapel,  and  confessed  and  received  the 
Holy  Communion  frequently.  He  consecrated  to  the 
service  of  God  all  the  hours  from  midnight  to  midday, 
at  which  time  he  prayed  and  meditated,  especially  on 
the  passion  of  Jesus  Christ  our  Saviour,  who,  as  he  said, 
communicated  to  him  in  the  exercise  a  miraculous 
slreno-th,  a  supernatiu'al  food. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  day,  from  midday  to 
the  evening,  he  received  those  who  visited  him ;  or,  when 
the  weather  was  fine,  he  would  traverse  the  mountains 
praying,  or  visit  his  friend  Brother  Ulrich,  and  con- 
verse with  him  on  divine  things.  Ulrich  was  a  German 
gentleman  originally  from  Bavaria,  who,  after  many 
remarkable  adventures,  had  quitted  the  world  to  es- 
tablish himself  near  Nicholas  in  this  solitude.  Lodged 
in  the  liollow  of  a  rock,  he  led  a  life  similar  to  his, 
save  only  that  he  could  not  dispense  with  food,  which 
the  pious  country-people  provided  for  him.  In  the 
evening  Brother  Nicholas  resumed  his  prayers;  then  be 
went  to  take  a  short  repose  u])on  his  couch,  which  con 


202  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

sisted  only  of  two  planks,  with  a  piece  of  wood  or  a  stone 
for  a  pillow. 

The  holy  and  miraculous  life  of  a  man  so  entirely 
separated  from  the  world,  inspired  all  Christians,  without 
distinction  of  rank,  with  such  confidence  in  the  power 
of  his  prayers,  and  in  the  wisdom  of  his  counsels,  that 
in  the  Swiss  cantons  and  elsewhere,  whoever  was  in 
trouble  or  anxiety,  or  desired  sound  advice  in  public  or 
private  affairs,  went  to  seek  Brother  Nicholas  in  his 
asylum,  to  receive  from  him  direction  and  consolation, 
and  to  recommend  himself  to  his  prayers.  Generals 
and  statesmen,  bishops  and  scholai-s,  did  not  think  it 
beneath  their  dij^ity  to  visit,  in  these  wild  defiles,  this 
poor  hermit,  who  could  neither  read  nor  write ;  and  they 
went  away  astonished  at  the  simple  wisdom,  the  clear 
and  profound  insip^ht  into  thing's  divine  and  human  which 
he  manifested.  Those  who  from  far  and  near  repaired 
in  pilgrimag-e  to  Einsiedeln,  to  invoke  the  holy  Mother 
of  God,  did  not  think  they  could  return  in  peace  to  tlieir 
firesides,  if  they  had  not  visited  and  conversed  with 
Brother  Nicholas. 

It  need  not,  then,  excite  astonishment  that  the  cure 
Henri  Im  Grand  should  have  placed  his  hope  in  Brother 
Nicholas.  Let  us  now  see  how  the  zealous  priest  suc- 
ceeded in  his  undertaking-. 

Nig-ht  was  already  far  advanced  when  the  cure 
Henri  arrived  before  the  hermitag'c.  The  cell  where 
the  pious  brother  had  lived  for  so  many  years  was  so 
low  that  he  touched  the  ceiling  with  his  head :  it  was 
not  three  feet  in  lengtli,  and  only  half  that  width ;  to 
the  right  and  left  were  little  windows  tlie  size  of  a  man's 
hand,  and  a  door  and  window  opened  to  the  chapel. 
No  other  furniture  was  to  be  seen  but  the  bed,  with  its 
old  gray  coverlet,  on  whicli  the  hermit  reposed. 

The  good  cure  explained  to  the  brother  tlie  great 
danger  in  which  the  country  was  involved  :  he  informed 
him  how  deplorable  had  been  the  issue  of  the  assembly, 
and  implored  him  in  the  name  of  God  to  come  and  succour 


THE  HERMIT  NICHOLAS.  203 

his  poor  country  in  the  present  emergency.  Brother 
Nicholas  replied  with  his  usual  calm  gfi-avity :  "  Return," 
said  he,  "  to  Stantz ;  tell  the  envoys  of  the  Confedera- 
tion that  Brother  Nicholas  has  something  to  propose  to 
them,  and  that  he  will  repair  to  them  speedily." 

The  cure,  full  of  hope,  resumed  liis  journey  with  all 
possible  speed ;  he  hastened  to  the  inns  where  the  de- 
puties were  preparing  for  departure,  and  conjured  them, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  in  the  name  of  God  and  of 
Brother  Nicholas,  to  be  again  reconciled,  and  to  listen 
for  the  last  time  to  the  counsels  and  proposition  of  the 
pious  hermit.  They  consented ;  and  some  hours  after, 
the  brother  appeared  in  the  midst  of  tlie  assembly. 

Notwithstanding  his  great  age,  Nicholas  had  per- 
formed this  long  and  difficult  journey  without  resting ; 
his  fine  majestic  figure,  which  time  had  scarcely  bent, 
was  to  be  seen  advancing  across  the  mai-ket-place  of 
Stantz  to  the  town-hall.  He  wore,  according  to  custom, 
his  simple  dark-coloured  dress,  which  descended  to  his 
feet ;  he  carried  his  chaplet  in  one  liand,  and  grasped 
his  stafiF  witli  the  other;  he  was,  as  usual,  barefoot  and 
bareheaded ;  and  his  long  hair,  a  little  touched  by  the 
snows  of  age,  fell  upon  his  shouldei-s.  Wlien  the  holy 
man  entered  the  hall  before  all  the  Confederates,  and 
they  beheld  the  peace  which  irradiated  his  coimt^nance, 
and  tlie  lieavenly  light  which  shone  from  his  eyes,  a 
pi'ofound  veneration  for  tlie  hixmble  servant  of  God 
penetrated  tlie  whole  assembly,  and  they  responded  to 
nis  friendly  salutation  by  rising  spontaneously  and 
bowing  low  before  him.  After  a  few  moments,  silence 
was  broken  by  the  fine  and  sonorous  voice  of  the  her- 
mit, who  addressed  them  thus  : 

"  Dear  lords,  faithful  Confederates,  I  salute  you  in 
the  name  of  God,  our  good  Father  and  Master,  who 
has  sent  me  here,  that  I  may  exhort  you  toucliing  your 
dissensions,  which  are  likely  to  bring  about  tlie  ruin  of 
our  beloved  country.  I  am  a  ])Oor  unlearned  man;  but 
I  will  give  you  counsel  in  all  the  sincerity  of  ray  heart, 
nnd  will  speak  to   you  as  God  inspires   me.      Would 


304  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

that  my  words  may  bring"  you  to  unity  and  peace! 
0  dear  Confederates !  discuss  your  affairs  in  a  spirit  of 
friendship  and  kindness ;  for  one  g-ood  leads  to  another. 
Believe  me  that  it  is  to  a  st^edfast  union  that  you  and 
your  fathers  owe  your  prpsj)erity.  And  since,  in  re- 
compense of  this  concord,  God  has  vouchsafed  you  such 
noble  victories,  would  you,  through  jealousy  and  avarice, 
separate  to  your  mutual  destruction  ?  Keep  yourselves 
carefully  from  all  dissension,  from  all  distrust ;  in  God 
we  ought  always  to  find  peace :  God,  who  is  peace  it- 
self, :s  not  subject  to  any  change ;  but  discord  is  the 
parent  of  change,  and  leads  to  destruction.  For  this 
cause  I  conjure  you,  dear  Confederates  of  the  country, 
receive  into  your  alliance  the  two  good  towns  of  Fri- 
bourg  and  Soleure;  they  have  given  you  faitliful  succour 
in  danger,  they  have  suffered  with  you  good  and  bad 
fortune,  and  they  have  lost  much  in  your  cause.  I 
will  not  only  exhort  and  counsel  you,  I  will  also  en- 
treat you  earnestly,  because  I  know  that  it  is  the  will 
of  GoQ.  A  time  will  come  when  you  will  have  great 
need  of  His  assistance  and  support.  And  3'ou,  Confe- 
derates of  the  cities !  renounce  these  rights  of  security 
which  you  have  established  with  these  two  cities;  for 
they  are  a  source  of  discord.  Do  not  extend  too  far 
the  circle  of  the  Confederation,  that  you  may  tlie  better 
maintain  peace  and  unity,  and  enjoy  in  repose  the 
liberty  so  dearly  purchased.  Do  not  meddle  with  too 
many  external  affairs,  nor  ally  yom-selves  witli  foreigTi 
powers.  0  dear  Confederates  !  accept  neither  presents 
nor  subsidies  of  money,  tliat  you  may  not  appear  to 
have  sold  your  country  for  gold,  that  jealousy  and 
selfislmess  may  not  germinate  amongst  you  and  poison 
3'our  hearts.  Preserve  in  all  your  relations  your  na- 
timil  justice;  divide  the  booty  according  to  the  service 
rendered,  tlie  conquered  lands  according  to  the  lociili- 
ties.  Do  not  be  drawn  into  unjust  wars  by  the  liope 
of  pillage ;  live  in  peace  and  in  good  understanding 
with  your  neighbours ;  if  they  attack  you,  defend  your 
country  valiantly,  and  fight  like  st-aunch  men.     Pi-actise 


THE  HERMIT  NICHOLAS.  205 

justice  amongst  youi-selves,  and  love  one  another  as 
Christian  allies.  May  God  protect  you,  and  be  with 
you  for  all  eternity !" 

Thus  spoke  Nicholas  de  Flue;  and  God  gave  His 
grace  to  the  words  of  the  holy  anchorite,  says  the 
worthy  chronicler  Ischudi;  so  that  in  one  hour  all 
difficmties  were  smoothed  away,  and  base  passions 
were  silent  through  shame  before  the  severe  counsel 
of  a  man  who  appeared  before  this  assembly  with 
his  hands  i-aised  towards  heaven,  even  as  a  prophet  sent 
from  God. 

The  Confederates,  in  accordance  with  Nicholas's  ad- 
vice, received  into  their  league  the  towns  of  Fribourg 
and  Soleure ;  the  ancient  treaties  of  alliance  were  con- 
firmed, and  further  consolidated  by  being  established 
on  the  basis  of  new  laws  imanimously  enacted.  The 
pacification  of  all  the  Swiss  cantons,  the  maintenance  of 
public  order,  and  of  the  authority  of  the  magistrates 
against  the  disturbers  of  the  peace,  the  division  of  booty 
according  to  the  rule  given  by  Nicliolas, — such  were  the 
points  upon  which  tlie  Confederates,  who  had  so  long 
contended  with  so  much  animosity,  came  this  same  day 
to  an  entire  agreement. 

The  brother  returned  the  same  evening  to  his  peace- 
ful hermitage.  At  Stantz  the  bells  were  rung,  and 
sounds  of  rejoicing  floated  across  the  lakes  and  through 
the  valleys  to  all  the  villages  and  towns  of  Switzerland, 
from  the  snowy  heights  of  St.  Gothard  to  the  smiling 
plains  of  Thurgovia.  There  was  as  much  joy  and  glad- 
ness every  where  as  after  tlie  victories  of  Granson  and 
Morat,  and  with  as  just  cause :  for  there  the  Confede- 
rates had  delivered  tiieir  country  from  foreign  enemies; 
hei'c  they  saved  it  from  tlieir  own  passions.  Their  true 
deliverer,  who  had  obtained  for  tliem  tliis  victory  over 
themselves,  was  tlie  poor  Brother  Nicliolas,  and  as  such 
he  was  every  where  recognised  and  extolled. 

The  towns  and  countries  of  the  Confederation,  and 
above  all  Soleure  and  Fribourg,  satisfied  with  the  happy 
termination  of  their  dissensions,  testified  their  gratitude 


206  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

to  the  brother  by  sending  him  letters  of  thanks  and 
precious  gifts.  He  accepted  the  latter  only  when  they 
were  destined  to  adorn  the  chapel,  for  he  wished  that 
they  should  honour  God  alone  as  the  author  of  all  good. 
In  accordance  with  this  desire,  the  inhabitants  of  Soleure 
sent  him  twenty  gold  florins  to  found  a  perpetual  mass. 
Fribourg  did  the  same.  Berne  sent  a  courier  with  a 
letter  ot  thanksgiving  and  a  handsome  present.  The 
answer  which  the  brotner  returned,  through  the  medium 
of  his  son  John,  exists  to  this  day  in  the  archives  of 
Soleure,  to  which  city  it  was  presented  by  Berne.  So- 
leure also  testified  her  gratitude  to  the  cure  Henri  Im 
Grand,  who  had  brought  the  brothei'  to  Stantz.  From 
this  time  the  general  veneration  for,  and  confidence  in, 
Brother  Nicholas  increased  continually. 

Nicholas  lived  six  yeare  longer  in  his  peacefid  re- 
treat, rich  in  benedictions.  At  length  the  time  arrived 
when  God  would  call  His  faithfiil  servant  from  the  mi- 
series of  the  world  to  eternal  joys  in  His  unchangeable 
presence. 

The  whole  life  of  the  saint  had  been  an  unceasing 
combat  with  his  earthly  nature, — a  combat  which  was  to 
continue  to  his  latest  hour,  in  order  that  he  might  be 
adorned  in  heaven  with  crowns  of  patience  and  meek- 
ness, virtues  which  had  enabled  him  to  support  every 
trial  on  earth.  Before  his  death  God  sent  liim  a  sharp 
sickness,  in  which  indescribable  pains  penetmted  to  the 
very  marrow  of  Ins  bones.  In  this  condition  of  suffer- 
ing he  turned  from  side  to  side,  writhing  upon  his 
couch  like  a  worm  trodden  under  foot.  These  fright- 
ful pains  lasted  eight  days,  during  which  his  body  was 
as  it  were  annihilated :  he  bore  them  with  perfect  resig- 
nation, and  continued  to  exhort  those  who  surrounded 
his  bed  of  death  so  to  conduct  themselves  in  this  life 
that  they  might  leave  it  with  a  peaceful  conscience. 
"  Deatli,"  said  he,  "  is  temble;  but  it  is  still  more 
ten'ible  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  living  God." 
When  his  pains  were  a  little  relieved,  and  the  moment  of 
death  drew  near,  Nicholas  desired  with  all  the  ardour 


THE  HERMIT  NICHOLAS.  307 

of  devotion  to  receive  the  sacred  Body  of  the  Saviour, 
and  to  be  strengthened  by  the  Sacrament  of  Extreme 
Unction.  Near  the  dying  man  stood  his  faithful  com- 
panion Brother  Uh-ich,  his  old  friend  Henri  Im  Grand, 
and  the  pious  ancliorite  Cecil,  who  after  his  death  led 
for  seventy  years  the  same  solitary  life  in  a  neighbour- 
ing cell ;  his  faithful  wife  and  children  also  g-athered 
round  him.  In  their  presence  he  received  the  holy 
Sacraments  witli  tokens  of  deep  humility ;  then  he 
thanked  God  anew  for  all  the  oenefits  He  had  dis- 
pensed to  him,  prostrated  himself,  and  died  the  death 
of  the  just. 

This  event  took  place  on  the  first  day  of  the  spring- 
of  the  year  1487,  the  feast  of  St.  Benedict,  the  same 
on  which  seventy  yeare  previous  he  was  bora. 

The  lily  had  been  the  favourite  symbol  of  this  pure 
calm  soul;  the  lily  in  flower,  resplendent  with  a  divine 
glory,  was  Brother  Nicholas  himself,  the  humble  ser- 
vant of  God,  whose  name  it  is  said  even  St.  Charles 
BoiTomeo  never  pronounced  but  with  uncovered  head. 

NOTE. 

The  magistrates  of  the  canton,  desiring  to  verify  the  fact  of 
the  monastic  life  of  Blessed  Nicholas,  sent  oificers,  who,  for  the 
space  of  a  month,  occupied  day  and  night  all  the  avenues  of  his 
retreat,  in  order  that  no  person  might  bring  provisions.  Thomas, 
Suffragan  Bishop  of  Constance,  subjected  tho  brother  to  a  similar 
test  when  he  consecrated  the  chapel;  and  after  him.  Bishop 
Otho  visited  the  hermit.  The  Archduke  Si;;ismond  of  Austria 
sent,  for  tne  same  purpose,  his  physician,  the  liarned  and  skilful 
Binkard  de  Ilorneck,  in  order  that  he  might  attentively  observe 
Nicholas  during  several  days  and  nights.  Frederic  III.,  Empe- 
ror of  Germany,  also  appointed  delegates  to  examine  him  ;  but 
all  these  expedients  served  only  to  confirm  the  truth.  Those 
who  visited  him  were  so  struck  with  the  piety  and  humility  of 
the  servant  of  God,  that  all  their  doubts  vanished,  and  they  left 
him  penetrated  with  the  most  profound  respect.  When  asked 
how  he  eould  exist  without  food,  his  simple  reply  was,  "  God 
knows." 


208  CATHOLIC  LEQENDS. 


XXVII. 

THE  MARTYR  OF  RCEUX. 

"  At  the  time  when  the  children  of  Clovis  reined  in 
Gaul,"  says  an  old  chronicle,  "there  was  in  Ireland  a 
king  by  name  Finnloj^a,  who  had  a  brother,  the  pious., 
Bishop  Brendan.  Adlin,  one  of  the  king's  of  Scotland, 
had  a  dauo;hter  named  Gelg-^s,  who  had  embraced  the 
religion  ot  Christ.  King-  Finnloga's  son  waS'- smitten 
with  her  beauty,  and  married  her,  but  privately,  be- 
cause it  was  necessary  to  conceal  it  from  Kinff  Adfin, 
who  was  an  implacable  enemy  of  the  faith.  He 
soon  discovered  it,  however,  and  had  his  daughter  seized 
and  condemned  to  be  burnt.  In  vain  liis  relations  and 
other  persons  of  influence  represented  to  him  that  man 
oug-ht  not  to  separate  what  God  had  joined  5  he  or- 
dered the  stake  to  be  prepared.  But  no  sooner  had 
Gelg^s  placed  her  foot  upon  the  burning  wood  than  it 
was  extinguished.  Her  father  was  not  convinced  by 
this  prodigy,  but  he  consented  to  spare  the  life  of  his 
daughter,  and  he  condemned  her  to  perpetual  exile. 
She  retired  with  lier  husband  to  good  Bisliop  Brendan, 
her  imcle,  and  there  gave  birth  to  three  sons — Fursy, 
Foillan,  and  Ultan.  On  the  deatli  of  their  grandfather, 
Finnloga,  their  father  was  raised  to  the  throne;  but 
instead  of  retm-ning  to  tlie  court,  they  resolved,  by 
Brendan's  instructions,  to  devote  tliemselves  to  the 
service  of  God,  and  they  embarked  as  missionaries  for 
Gaul."     So  far  the  chronicler. 

Fursy,  after  many  labours  and  hardships,  attained 
the  crown  of  martyrdom.  Foillan,  the  second  brother, 
was  pre])aring  on  the  31st  October,  G55,  the  day  on 
which  our  narrative  commences,  to  leave  Nivelles,  where 
he  had  been  resting  for  a  short  space.  Gertrude  was 
at  this  time  the  abbess  of  the  convent  of  Nivelles,  and 
had  eiven  to  Foillan,  in  633,  the  domain  of  Fosses,  where 


THE  MARTYR  OF  RCEUX.  209 

he  had  built  a  church  and  monastery,  the  tower  of 
which,  in  fact,  exists  to  this  day.  His  brother  Ultan 
was  now  at  the  monastery  of  Fosses,  and  Foillan  was 
t  to  join  him ;  but  before  doing-  so  he  wished  to 
rnte  the  festival  of  All  Saints  with  his  friend  the 
blesseci^ncent  Maldeg-her.  He  took  his  journey  there- 
fore thrash  an  opening  in  the  forest  by  the  route  of 
Soifj-iiies,  \#iere  he  was  to  receive  hospitality  for  the 
lastery  of  Vincent. 

^  many  intricate  paths  in  solitude 
and  ciiicnce,  wit^ut  meeting"  any  living-  being ;  and 
])avinffmoreoverjRs  he  thought,  lost  his  way,  he  began 
to  IHKbout  for^ome  human  habitation  where  he  might 
obta^fceit^*«n(l  direction.  At  last  he  perceived  some 
rude  straw^Duiit  huts,  and  thither  he  accordingly  di- 
rected his  steps.     This  was  the  hamlet  of  Soneflte. 

Foillan  seeing  that  it  was  now  late,  and  that  he  had 
not  completed  half  his  journey,  was  glad  to  enter  a  hut 
and  ask  for  a  guide.  The  frightful  appearance  and 
fierce  looks  Mihe  inmates  of  the  cabin  would  have 
frightened  an^^m  but  the  holy  missionary.  But,  like 
the  glass  which  we  read  of  in  the  Arabian  tale,  that 
did  not  reflect  any  deformed  object,  the  heart  of  the 
saint  suspected  no  evil,  and  he  at  once  desired  two  of 
the  men  to  accompany  him  as  guides. 

Foillan  conversed  with  the  men  from  time  to  time 
as  they  jn-ocoeded  along  the  rough  and  imequal  path ; 
but  they  said  4ittle  in  reply.  Finding  they  were  still 
pagans,  he  spoke  to  them  of  God,  His  goodness  and 
mercy,  of  the  redemption  of  man  ly  the  blood  of  the 
Crucified,  and  of  the  paradise  prepared  for  those  wlio 
believe  and  do  His  will.  All  his  "words,  however,  fell 
unheeded  on  tlieir  ears,  and  lie  could  only  be  silent  and 
pray  for  them.  At  last  the  saint  arrived  with  his 
guides  at  a  part  of  the  forest  wheie  an  idol  was  wor- 
shipped; and  thei'e,  whether  it  was  that  these  pagans 
wished  to  force  him  to  sacrifice  like  them  to  their  god, 
or  whether  they  thought  only  of  robbing  him,  the  four 
threw  themselves  upon  him  and  aisjiatched  him 

V 


210  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

witli  their  clubs,  heedless  alike  of  his  entreaties,  or  of  the 
prajei-s  which  with  his  last  voice  he  offered  iJp  for  his 
murderei's. 

Night  now  set  in  cold  and  dismal.     A  violent 
beg^n  to  howl  among  the  trees;  and  next'morj 
thick  snow,  which  lay  for  several  months, 
face  of  the  country. 

Meantime,  the  companions  of  Fo 
larmed  at  his  prolonged  absence,  an^ 
seen  him  at  the  feast  of  Christmas, 

customed  to  celebrate  at  Fosses.     

fears  began  to  be  entertained,  whi^^ftp^ei'c  confirmed 
by  several  visions.  His  brother  Ul^^w^  he  was  at 
prayei-s,  saw  pass  before  his  eyes  a^^n  whit.-  as 
snqjv,  Hit  with  wings  reddened  with  "bloodj  a  similar  j 

plx)(M^  was  seen  by  the  abbess  Gertrude ;  and  on  the  j 

ISthjanuary,  656,  information  was  given  her  in  her      '    ^ 
cell  at  Nivelles,  ^jiat  in  a  certain  spot  of  the  forest  of  i 

Soignies  th^ftbw  was  red.  Next  day  she  repaired  thi-  ^j 
ther,  guided  oy  a  bloody  vapour  wly^BBfTvered  in  the  ^H 
sky,  and  discovered  the  dead  body  o^Poillan.  It  was  ^H 
at  first  earned  with  pomp  to  Nivelles,  but  Ultan  desired  ^^ 
it  might  be  buried  at  Fosses,  as  tlie  martyr  himself  had 
requested.  In  order  to  arrive  at  this  monastery  it  was 
necessary  to  cross  the  Sambre,  then-  swollen  by  the 
melted  snow  and  ice.  Not  knowing  where  to  cross,  it 
is  related  that  Gertrude  ordering  them  to  leave  the 
horses  free,  the  latter  passed,  followed  ^f  tlie  crowd, 
througiji  the  place  which  has  ever  since  been  called  the 
"  Ford  of  St.  Gertrude."  V 

The  body  of  tlie  martyr  was  afterwards  enclosed  in  a 
beautiful  chapel;  and  on  the  same  spot,  at  a  later  period, 
was  raised  a  maf^nificent  church,  to  which  was  added, 
in  1123,  an  abbey  of  Premonstratensians.  The  colour 
of  the  snow,  which  had  revealed  the  place  of  the  crime, 
gave  to  this  place  the  name  of  Rood  (red),  which  was 
afterwards  known  by  the  name  of  Le  Rceux,  an  important 
barony  in  the  middle  ages,  and  at  this  day  a  thriving 
little  village.     Soneffe,  whence  the  miu'derers  of 


4 


^IJP'  ST.  CiEDMOX.  211 

holy  Fmllan  came,  continued,  and  still  continues,  to 
bear  ib^mai-ks  of  the  divine  malediction  ;  for  while  all 
the  oiii&p  hamlets  around  became  flourishing^  towns,  this 
alone  has  :|^mained  as  in  the  times  of  paj^anism,  a  col- 
lection of  miserable  huts. 


^^^as  tl 


XXVIII, 

THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  CEDMON. 

It  is  a  common  thing  amongst  us  to  speak  of  the  gifts 
of  genius;  and  the  phrase  is  never  more  frequently  used 
than  in  allusion  to  those  poetic  powers  which,  when 
found  in  any  very  high  degree,  convey  to  the  rudest 
understanding  the  notion  of  coming  fi'om  a  higher  Source, 
and  of  being  far  out  of  the  reach  of  those  on  whom  they 
are  not  originally  bestowed  :  yet  few  who  use  the  term, 
and  still  more  of  those  on  whom  those  gifts  have  rested, 
ever  think  of  the  Giver.  By  another  phrase  as  common 
as  the  first,  they  are  wont  to  term  the  different  manifes- 
""  '^ions  of  genius  the  gifts  of  nature ;  and  in  the  annals 
^  he  saints  there  are  not  wanting  an  abundance  of 
examples  which  seem  as  if  given  with  fhe  direct  inten- 
tion of  teaching  our  forgetfulness  and  presumption  that 
these  i^yjts  of  nature  are  onljf  the  gifts  of  God.  The 
very^  remarkable  instance  of  Albert  the  Great  is  already 
before  the  reader;  another,  equally  striking,  is  to  be 
found  in  our  own  early  history  :  it  is  that  of  the  great 
Saxon  saint  and  poet,  Ciedmon. 

Attached  to  th6  great  abbey  of  Whitby,  which  was 
founded  in  the  seventh  century  by  tlie  Abbess  St.  Hilda, 
there  was  a  certain  poor  rustic  emj)loyed  by  *the  steward 
of  the  monastery  in  the  work  of  the  farm,  and  whose 
ordinary  occupation  was  the  care  of  the  horses  and  cat- 
tle. He  was  neither  yoxmg  nor  of  natural  abilities,  and 
had  passed  all  his  life  in  the  drudgery  of  his  servile 
Ctt^ing,  if'hirh,  however,  was  seasoned  and  made  sw^eet 


212  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

to  his  soul  by  a  lioly  and  simple  life,  and  the  Jiabit  of 
prayer. 

He  was  accustomed  at  times  to  join  in  the  merry- 
making's and  entertainments  of  his  neig-hboui'§,  at  which 
meetings,  according*  to  tlie  favourite  Saxon  custom,  music 
and  sing'ing",  of  tlie  rude  and  unpolished  style  of  the 
day,  were  often  introduced.  But  poor  as  were  these 
performances,  they  were  far  above  the  capacity  of  Caed- 
mon,  who  was  wont  to  sit  a  rapt  and  marvelling  listener 
to  what  doubtless  seemed  to  him  a  display  of  incompre- 
hensible talent. 

One  evening,  as  he  sat  with  his  comrades  round  a 
blazing-  winter  hearth,  one  of  the  company  proposed 
that  all  present  should  sing  in  turn  to  the  music  of  a 
small  lute,  which  being"  handed  from  one  to  another, 
should  indicate  the  person  who  was  next  called  on  to 
amuse  the  assembled  giiests.  The  proposal  was  agTced 
to,  and  the  singing  began.  We  should  probably  think 
but  little  either  of  the;  music  or  words,  were  they  pro- 
duced in  our  own  da}' ;  the  rude  war-song-s  of  oui- 
Saxon  forefathers  were  given  in  barbarous  plirase,  to  a 
roug'h  and  Tuiharmonious  chant;  there  was  little  skill 
in  the  execution,  and  still  less  in  the  comjwsition;  yet 
Cfcdmon  watched  the  approach  of  the  lute  to  the  corner 
where  lie  sat  with  a  sensation  of  nervous  terror.  It 
was  not  the  first  time  wlien  he  knev/  he  shoiild  be 
obliged  to  make  the  humiliating*  avowal  that  he  could 
not  sing;  and  good  and  holy  as  he  was,  it  g*ave  him 
pain.  Canlnion  was  an  English  saint,  and  he  had  an 
English  temperament, — a  certain  shyness  and  aj)titu(le 
to  blush,  and  the  ina])iHiy  to  carry  off  a  failure,  well,  and 
tlie  painful  consciousness  of  being*  awkward  and  stupid 
amid  his  gay  companions.  So,  as  tlie  little  lute  came 
nearer  and  neai-er,  he  g*rew  moi'e  nbasliod,  and  sliuiHed 
about,  and  heartily  wislicd  himself  safe  in  bed,  or  in  the 
sta])le  with  his  hoi-se^.  Two  more  turns,  g-ond  C/.edmon, 
and  the  hite  will  be  in  your  hands,  and  you  will  liave, 
a«  usual,  to  pass  it  on  and  say,  "  I  cannot  sing ;"  and 
to-night,  moreover,  there  are  strangers  ])resent:  i'or  there 


ST.  CiEDMON.  213 

has  been  a  meeting-  of  bishops  and  clergy  wlio  have 
come  to  hold  council  at  the  monastery,  and  a  crowd  of 
attendants  in  tb^eir  train;  and  mingling"  with  the  mas- 
ter's gniests  you  may  see  the  equerry  of  his  lordship  of 
York,  a  huge  Northumbrian,  with  a  voice  that  would 
fill  the  abbey  nave ;  and,  worse  still,  there  is  the  house- 
steward  of  Archbishop  Theodore,  whose  keen  Italian 
eye  has  more  than  once  rested  on  you  as  you  sat  a  little 
awkwardly  in  your  corner,  with  a  glance  tliat  said,  as 
plain  as  glance  could  say,  that  he  considered  you  as 
little  better  than  a  barbarian.  What  was  to  be  done  ? 
To  bear  the  ridicule  of  tlie  whole  company,  and  of  that 
foi-eign  fellow  with  his  look  of  conceited  superiority,  was 
not  to  be  endured ;  before  the  instrument  left  the  hands 
of  the  next  but  one  to  himself,  Caedmon  had  determined 
on  flight,  and  rising  from  his  chair  as  softly  as  he  could, 
he  stole  to  the  door,  and  before  his  absence  was  noticed, 
found  himself  in  the  quiet  refuge  of  his  stable.  He  sat 
down  on  the  heap  of  straw  that  lay  against  the  wall  in 
somewhat  disconsolate  mood.  Why  was  he  so  different  -  x 
from  others,  he  thought,  tliat  he  shoidd  not  be  able  to 
do  wliat  seemed  so  easy  and  so  natural  to  them  ?  "  I 
marvel,"  he  muttered,  "  that  I  can  go  among  tliem,  I 
that  am  so  dull  and  heavy,  and  can  find  not  a  word  to 
say,  while  other  tongiies  are  so  glib  and  busy  with  the 
sea-kings  and  the  like  trumpery.  Though,  truly,  could 
these  great  fingers  of  mine  find  their  way  among  tlie 
strings  of  yonder  lute,  and  knew  I  but  the  fashion  of 
speech  which  they  call  singing,  it  sliould  not  be  on  the 
heathen  Vikyngs  that  I  would  waste  my  breatli ;  no, 
nor  on  the  ])raise  of  strong  ale,  wliicli  nevertheless  was 
tlie  chief  burden  of  the  IS'orthumbrian's  song."  And 
then  good  Ciedmon's  heart  smote  him  a  little  to  think 
how  vexed  and  shamefaced  he  had  been  because  he 
could  not  do  what,  ai'ter  all,  was  scarcely  worth  the 
doing ;  and  how  far  better  it  was  to  sing  God's  ])raises 
in  his  heart,  and  remain  the  dull  rustic  hind  tliat  he  was, 
than  to  abuse  God's  gifts  by  an  unworthy  use  of  them; 
and  lastly  came  a  doubt  whetlier  the  sweetest  song  he 


iUi  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

could  have  offei-ed  his  Lord  that  nig-ht  would  not  have 
been  to  have  sat  quiet  in  his  cliimney-coraer,  and  1)01116 
the  jests  and  ridicule  of  his  companions^  with  a  patient 
will.  And  with  these  thoughts  in  his  head,  and  the 
echoes  of  the  last  chorus  yet  ring'ing*  in  his  ears,  Ca^d- 
mon  leant  his  head  on  the  straw-heap  and  fell  asleep. 

In  his  sleep  he  had  a  sing-ular  dream ;  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  was  still  lying"  on  his  bed  of  straw,  close  bv 
the  horses'  stall,  when  the  door  of  the  stable  opened, 
and  a  strang-er  entered  and  stood  before  him.  "  Caed- 
mon,"  he  &aid,  bending"  over  his  sleeping" form,  "I  pray 
you  rise,  and  sing"  me  a  song"  to-nig"ht."  And  the  voice 
in  which  he  spoke  had  a  sweetness  in  it  more  exquisite 
than  the  finest  music  of  the  abbey  choir.  "  I  cannot 
sing","  replied  Ctednion,  sorrowfully ;  "  it  was  even  for 
that  reason  I  left  the  house  and  came  here;  for  they 
were  meiTy  and  cheerful,  and  I  was  dull,  and  so  I  came 
hither  to  hide  myself,  because  I  could  not  sing"."  "Ne- 
vertheless, thou  shalt  sing","  said  the  other.  "And 
what  am  I  to  sing"  about  .•*"  asked  Ciedmon ;  "  I  am  fit 
to  speak  of  nothing"  save  the  beasts  and  oxen  that  I 
tend,  and  the  fields  I  till."  "  Tlie  beasts  and  the  fields 
are  God's  creatures,  and  show  forth  His  praise,"  replied 
his  companion ;  "  fear  not,  therefore,  but  sing"  as  you 
find  words,  and  it  shall  be  of  the  beg'inning"  of  created 
thing"s." 

Then  C;i^dmon  felt  a  marvellous  chang-e  in  his  soul : 
thoug"hts  and  shapes  came  flocking"  on  his  mind,  and 
they  were  not  so  much  new  tiling's  as  old  thing's  with 
a  new  Iig"ht  shining"  on  them  and  making;  them  g"lorious. 
The  ima;i"es  traced  on  his  niemorv  throu<>"h  the  loner 
yenrs  he  had  spent  in  the  broad  forests  and  healthy  up- 
lands of  his  native  land,  seemed  to  start  up  fresh  nnd 
beautiful  within  him.  He  heard  the  larks  carolling- 
sweetly  in  the  morning"  air,  as  they  were  Avont  to  do 
when  he  went  early  into  the  plough-field ;  and  tlie 
mystic  g"lory  of  manv  a  sunset  swam  in  g-olden  fiootls 
before  his  eye,  which  he  had  been  used  to  watch  as 
he  plodded  home  from  his  daily  labour,  scarcely  know- 


T.  CJJUMOW.  215 

ing"  how  much  of  theix'  beauty  was  sinking-  into  his  soul. 
Nor  was  this  all;  for,  ming-ling-  with  the  imag-es  of 
nature  and  the  excellence  of  created  thing-s,  there  came 
thoughts  of  the  Lord  who  had  made  them,  notions 
about  God,  and  aspirations  after  Him,  which  had  filled 
his  simple  heart  as  he  had  toiled  at  work,  and  which 
in  old  time  had  seemed  plain  and  homely  like  himself, 
but  now  were  all  bathed  in  a  new  beauty,  as  though 
the  sunshine  had  suddenly  been  let  into  his  heart. 
And  soon  he  thoug-ht  there  followed  words,  not  slowly 
and  heavily,  as  Cjedmon  had  been  wont  to  speak,  but 
flowing-  forth  with  a  fulness  and  impetuosity  like  the 
waves  of  a  broad  and  noble  river ;  he  felt  that  some- 
thing- mightier  than  himself  was  strug-g-ling-  within 
him  for  utterance;  and  when  at  last  those  prisoned 
words  found  vent,  and  shaped  themselves  into  song-, 
the  sound  of  his  own  voice  startled  him,  for  it  was  rich 
and  musical,  even  like  the  voice  of  him  avIio  had  first 
addressed  him  and  commanded  him  to  sing-. 

Now  if  this  were  all,  and  the  story  of  Ctedmon  were 
nothing-  but  the  story  of  a  dream,  there  would  be  little 
to  make  it  worth  our  notice  beyond  other  dreams.  Most 
men  can  remember  times  when  the  mystery  of  sleep  has 
bestowed  on  them  a  fancied  power,  whicli  fied  from  tlicm 
when  the  grey  daylight  brought  them  ])ack  to  common- 
place and  common  sense ;  but  with  C;edmon  it  wns  not 
so.  He  went  on  making  verses  and  singing  them  in 
his  sleep;  and  when  he  woke  he  still  foimd  himself 
making-  verses,  and  could  remember  all  he  had  made 
and  sung  during  the  whole  of  that  night.  Moreover, 
thougli  when  tlie  cock  began  to  crow  outside,  ho 
started  up  from  his  straw,  and  yawned  and  rubbed  his 
eyes,  and  found  lie  was  still  tlie  herdsman  Ctvdmon, 
and  knew  that  his  first  business  was  to  lead  the  horses 
out  to  drink,  and  sweep  their  stalls,  yet  for  all  that,  he 
knew  he  wns  at  the  snme  time  anotlier  man.  T!iat 
wonderful  gift  was  within  him  which  makes  all  things 
new ;  that  giit,  whose  joys,  too  rare  and  excellent  for 
earth,  are  ever  mingled  with  a  pain,  yet  whose  pains 


216  CATHOLIC  LKOENDS. 

arc  wortli  all  the  common  joys  of  rude  souls ;  that  g;\i't 
so  like  the  prophet's  insi)iration,  ■which  kindles  us  with 
a  fire  that  surely  first  came  down  from  heaven,  and  was 
meant  to  keep  alive  the  altar-fire,  thoug-h  they  on  whom 
it  falls  too  ol'ten  forc'et  from  whence  it  came,  and  pro- 
fane it  to  unhallowed  purposes,  so  that  it  loses  the  pure 
light  of  its  celestial  glory,  and  hums  w^ith  the  dulled 
and  faded  lustre  of  an  earthly  fiame. 

Not  so,  however,  did  C^edmou  treat  the  power  which 
had  l)een  given  him  from  God :  refiecting  w'ithin  him- 
self that  the  change  which  could  have  transformed  a 
rustic  herdsman  into  a  poet,  in  the  short  space  of  a 
winter's  nig'ht,  was  nothing  short  of  miraculous,  his 
next  conviction  was,  that  he  was  bound  to  im])art  the 
news  of  this  strange  transformation  to  his  master  the 
steward ;  and  having  come  to  this  conclusion,  he  pre- 
sented himself  before  him,  and  informed  him,  with  his 
usual  simplicity,  that  he  had  come  to  sing.  "  To  sing!" 
exclaimed  the  steward ;  "  now  thou  art  surely  beside 
thyself,  or  the  strong  ale  thou  drankest  overnight  hath 
got  the  mastery  of  tliy  bi-ain.  Never  hast  thou  sung 
since  I  liave  known  thee ;  and  I  would  fain  know,  if 
thou  be  such  a  scholar  in  thy  music,  why  thou  ever 
sittest  silent  in  tJiy  comer  like  one  of  thine  own  beasts, 
when  it  is  time  for  merrymaking;  and  now,  when 
thou  shouldest  be  abroad  with  the  cattle,  dost  come 
to  me  to  prate  of  singing :  thou  wast  not  given  to  such 
vagaries." 

''So  please  you,"  replied  Ciiedmon,  "it  is  neither 
the  ale  nor  mine  own  folly  that  sjx'aketh  ;  but  a  strange 
vision  was  given  me  last  night  as  I  lay  in  the  stable; 
and  none  other  than  an  angel  of  God,  as  I  deem  him, 
hath  taught  me  how  to  sing- :  wherefore  I  pray  you  to 
listen  to  the  verses  that  I  have  made,  for  truly  I  would 
have  other  man's  judgment  than  my  own  wdiat  these 
things  may  mean." 

When  the  steward  saw  by  his  words  and  the  im- 
usual  earnestness  with  whicli  he  spoke,  that  some  mar- 
vel had  befallen  him,  he  gave  him  leave  to  sing;  and 


ST.  CiKDMON.  217 

Csedmon  beg-an  his  poem  on  "  Tlie  Be^nning  of  Created 
Thing^s."  Scarcely  did  the  steward  know  what  to 
think ;  for  the  words  were  so  lofty,  and  the  sti-ain  so 
musical,  and  the  mysteries  on  which  he  discoursed  were 
so  profound  and  excellent,  that  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 
he  had  never  heard  poetry  or  music  until  then. 

"  Good  Cuedmon,"  he  said,  when  the  song  was 
finished,  "  thy  case  is  past  my  counsel  to  decide ;  and 
whether  thv  music  come  from  heaven  or  hell,  it  must  be 
for  tlie  Lady  Hilda  to  resolve :  for  to  her  shalt  thou 
surely  go,  and  sing  even  as  thou  hast  sung  to  me;  and 
see  well  that  thou  tell  her  truly  all  things  that  have 
befallen  thee,  and  all  the  words  wliich  were  spoken  to 
thee  in  the  stable ;"  and  so  saying,  he  carried  the  in- 
spired ploughman  to  the  abbey-gate,  and  sent  a  mes- 
sage to  the  Abbess,  that  he  craved  to  speak  with  her 
on  a  matter  that  would  admit  of  no  delay.  They  were 
admitted  into  her  j)resence,  and  not  a  little  did  the 
purport  of  their  coming  perplex  her. 

"  Tliou  desirest  nie  to  hear  this  man  sing,"  she  said, 
addressing  the  stev/ard  in  a  tone  of  some  severity  ;  "  it 
is  a  strange,  and  methinks  scarcely  a  fitting  request.  Of 
what  does  he  sing,  that  thou  sliouldest  call  me  from 
choir  and  prayer  to  hsten  to  his  idle  carols  ?" 

"  lieverend  mistress,"  said  the  steward,  '•'  I  jiray 
you  to  have  patience  witli  me  ;  for  even  as  I  stand  here, 
there  is  a  mystery  in  this  matter  which  ghostly  hands 
alone  can  unravel.  A  spirit  liath  surely  spoken  to  the 
man,  but  whether  good  or  bad  it  is  for  your  reverence 
to  dech^re  ;  only  this  much  I  know,  that  words  like 
those  that  Coedmon  spoke  this  morning  have  I  never 
heai-d  before." 

Then  Hilda  commanded  that  he  should  begin  his 
song  ap;ain;  and  wlien  she  had  heard  "The  Beginning 
of  Created  Tilings,"  she  marvelled  as  greatly  as  the 
steward  had  done.  The  words  of  tlie  lieaven-tnught 
poet  foTind  a  quicker  and  readier  response  in  her  soul 
than  tliey  had  done  in  that  of  liis  less  spiritually-minded 
master.     He  began  by  an   address   to  God,  and  de- 


UlS  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

voted  himself  to  the  praise  of  the  Maker  of  all  things, 
and  of  the  power  of  the  Creator  and  His  counsel,  and 
the  deeds  of  the  Father  of  g'lory.  The  Eternal  God 
was,  he  said,  the  author  of  all  miracles ;  and  when  He 
made  thewoi-ld,  He  stretched  out  the  heavens  to  he  the 
roof  of  that  house  which  His  Majesty  had  erected  for 
the  sons  of  men ;  and  the  earth  was  to  be  the  place  of 
their  abode.  All  thing's  were  of  Him,  and  all  thing's 
should  end  in  Him ;  therefore  in  creatures  men  should 
worship  (Jod,  and  praise  the  Creator  who  had  made 
them.     This  was  the  burden  of  his  poem. 

When  Hilda  had  listened  for  some  time  in  profound 
silence  and  attention,  she  rose  and  addressed  trie  poet : 

"  CiBdmon,"  she  said,  "  if  thy  tale  be  true,  and 
tliese  words  thine  own,  the  matter  is  too  hig'h  ibr  my 
poor  wit  to  judge  of;  Imt  the  Lord  Theodore  of  Can- 
terbury and  the  Abbot  Adrian  are  even  now  in  the 
house,  and  thou  shalt  speak  to  them  :  it  may  be  their 
learning'  ma}'  see  farther  in  this  matter  than  doth  my 
simplicity." 

jPerha})s  no  young-  poet  in  the  first  flush  of  newly 
developed  powei-s  has  ever  been  put  to  a  harder  ordeal 
than  was  poor  Coedmon  on  that  eventful  morning'; 
thrice  within  an  hour's  space  to  repeat  his  verse,  and 
each  time  before  a  noble  presence.  It  was  no  small 
trial  for  him  to  stand  before  the  Abbess  Hilda,  whom 
he  had  been  used  to  consider  as  the  gTeatest  person  in  tlie 
whole  world  ;  but  to  be  broug-ht  before  the  Ai-chbishop 
of  Canterbury,  the  most  learned  man  of  Christendom,  as 
men  were  wont  to  call  St.  Theodore,  and  the  not  less 
learned  or  less  holy  Abbot  Adrian,  who,  between  them, 
as  we  are  told,  made  men  talk  Greek  and  Latin  as  thoug-h 
thev  were  tlieir  native  tong'ues.*  However,  tliere  was 
no  help  for  it ;  once  more  he  had  to  tell  his  dream  and 
repeat  his  verses,  that  all  mig-ht  determine  what  the 
dream  was,  and  whence  the  vei'se  ])roceeded.  And 
when  they  had  heard  him  speak  (says  V.  Bede),  they  all 

•  Bede,  b.  iv.  c.  2. 


ST.  CJEDMON.  219 

concluded  that  heavenly  gjace  had  been  conferred  on 
him  bv  our  Lord. 

"  Yet  since  we  know  not  surely  whether  these  verees 
are  his  own,"  said  the  abbot,  "  were  it  not  well,  my 
lord  archbishop,  that  some  farther  trial  should  be  put 
upon  him  ?" 

"  You  say  rig-htly,"  answered  Theodore  :  ''  there- 
fore will  we  choose  out  a  passage  of  Holy  Writ ;  and  if 
he  can  put  the  same  into  like  verses  with  those  he  lias 
even  now  recited,  we  may  no  longer  doul)t  that  the 
hand  of  God  is  on  him  for  some  high  purpose ;  if  not, 
let  him  look  well  to  it  that  he  be  not  treated  as  knaves 
deserve." 

The  passage  was  selected,  and  Credmon  went  away. 
When  he  returned  the  next  morning,  he  gave  them  the 
whole  composed  in  most  excellent  verse ;  and  moreover 
the  grace  of  God  was  so  evident  in  tlie  luminousness 
and  holiness  of  his  thouglits,  far  more  tlian  even  in  the 
marvels  of  his  versification,  that  his  hearers  began  to 
feel  that  they  had  not  only  found  a  poet,  but  a  saint  in 
the  poor  herdsman  Coedmon. 

"  Whereupon,"  says  V.  Bede,  "  the  abbess  embrac- 
ing the  orace  of  God  in  the  man,  instructed  him  to  quit 
tlie  secular  habit  and  take  upon  him  the  monastic  life ; 
which  being  accordingly  done,  she  associated  him  to  the 
I'est  of  the  brethren*  in  her  monastery,  and  ordered  that 
he  should  be  taught  the  wliole  s(n-i(>s  of  sacred  history. 
Thus  Ceedmon,  keej)ing  in  mind  all  he  heard,  and  as  it 
were  chewing  the  cud,  converted  the  same  into  most 
harmonious  verse,  and  sweetly  repeating  the  same  made 
his  masters  in  their  tui-n  his  hearers.  He  sang  the  crea- 
tion of  the  world,  the  origin  of  man,  and  all  the  history 
of  Genesis,  with  many  other  histori(>s  from  Holy  Writ; 
and  of  the  incarnation,  passion,  and  icsunection  of  our 
Lord,   and    His   ascension   into  heaven  ....   besides 

*  III  th«  monastery  of  Whitl)y,  or  Strfavf>li;ilcli,  ns  it  w;is 
tlien  called,  there  were  two  separate  and  distinct  cuniniiinitiv';., 
one  of  nio:i  and  tlie  utlier  of  \v<pnu'n,  liolli  miveiiicd  hv  the  same 
head. 


220  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

many  other  things  about  the  divine  benefits  and  judg-- 
ments,  by  wliicli  he  endeavoured  to  turn  men  away 
from  the  love  of  vice,  and  to  excite  them  to  g-ood 
actions,"  "  And  by  liis  vei^es,"  adds  the  same  histo- 
rian, "  the  mind-;  ot  many  were  often  excited  to  despise 
the  worhi,  and  to  asj)ire  to  heaven.  Others  after  him 
in  the  Eng-Hsh  nation  attempted  to  compose  reh"g-ious 
poems,  but  none  did  ever  compare  witli  him,  for  he  did 
not  learn  the  art  of  poetry  from  men,  but  from  God; 
for  which  reason  he  never  could  compose  any  vain  or 
trivial  poem,  but  only  those  which  relate  to  religion 
suited  his  relignous  tong-ue." 

We  have  given  tlie  story  of  Ccedinon  as  furnishing- 
a  fitting-  illustration  of  the  true  vocation  of  a  poet,  who 
receiving-  his  powers  directly  from  tlie  hand  of  God,  is 
bound  by  his  calling'  to  dedicate  them  to  those  objects 
which  are  here  so  beautifully  pointed  out,  namely,  the 
praise  of  God,  and  the  exciting-  of  men's  hearts  to 
aspire  to  heaven.  The  first  to  write  in  his  native 
tong-ue,  Ctedmon  may  be  considered  as  the  father  of 
Eng-lish  poetry.  He  lived  many  years  in  the  monastery, 
where  his  life  was  as  sweet  and  holy  as  were  his  woi-ds; 
"  for  he  was  a  very  relig-ious  man,"  continues  the  same 
author,  "  humbly  submissive  to  reg-ular  discipline,  for 
which  reason  he  also  ended  his  life  happily."  We  will 
g-ive  the  account  of  his  death  in  the  words  of  his  bio- 
grapher. After  telling-  us  that  he  was  taken  with  a 
moaerate  infirmity,  and  desired  to  be  carried  to  the 
house  prej)ared  for  the  sick,  he  continues :  ''  The  person 
to  whom  he  made  this  request  wondered  wliy  he  should 
desire  it,  because  there  were  no  sig-ns  of  Jiis  dying-  soon; 
nevertheless,  he  did  as  he  had  ordered,  lie  accordingly 
went  there,  and  conversing-  pleasantly  and  in  a  joyful 
manner  with  the  rest  that  were  in  the  house,  when  it 
was  ])ast  niidnig-ht,  he  asked  them  wliether  they  had 
the  Holy  Eucharist  tliere  i*  Tliey  answered,  'What 
need  of  the  Eucharist .''  for  you  are  not  likel}'  to  die, 
since  you  talk  as  merrily  with  us  as  though  you  were 
in  perfect  healtli.      '  JNevertheless,'  he  said,  *  bring  me 


ST.  C^DMON.  221 

the  Eucharist.'  And  having  received  the  same  into  his 
hnnds,  he  asked  whether  they  were  all  in  charit}'  with 
him,  and  without  any  enmity  or  rancour  ?  They  an- 
swered that  they  were  all  in  perfect  chanty  and  free 
from  ang'cr,  and  in  their  turn  asked  him  whether  he  was 
in  tlie  same  mind  towards  them  ?  He  answered,  '  I  am 
in  charity,  my  children,  with  all  the  servants  of  God,' 
Then  streng-thening' himself  with  the  heavenly  viaticum, 
lie  prepared  the  entrance  into  another  life,  and  asked  how 
near  the  time  was  when  the  hrotliei-s  were  to  he  awak- 
ened to  sing  the  noctm-nal  praises  of  the  Lord  ?  They 
replied,  '  It  is  not  for  off.'  Then  he  said,  *  Well,  let  us 
wait  that  hour ;'  and  sigTiing  himself  with  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  he  laid  his  head  on  the  pillow,  and  falling 
into  a  shmiher,  ended  his  life  so  in  silence.  Thus  it 
came  to  pass,  that  as  he  had  served  God  with  a  simple 
and  pure  mind  and  imdisturhed  devotion,  so  he  now 
departed  to  His  ])resence,  leaving  the  world  by  a  quiet 
death ;  and  that  tongaie  which  had  com[)osed  so  many 
holy  words  in  praise  of  the  Creator,  uttered  its  last 
words  wliilst  he  was  in  the  act  of  signing  himself  with 
the  cross,  and  i-ecommending  himself  into  His  hands." 

Miracles  followed  on  his  death:  and  in  the  days  of 
the  Concpieror  his  body  was  granted  an  honoui-able 
translation.  Ho  is  commomoi'ated  in  the  English  mar- 
tyrology  on  the  twelfth  day  of  February.* 

*  The  resemblance  between  portions  of  Cfedmon's  poem  on 
the  Fall  of  Man  and  passan:c.s  on  the  same  subject  in  the  raradise 
Lost  have  been  judt^ed  bv  several  writers  so  remarkable  as  to 
justify  the  opinion  that  Milton  was  familiar  with  the  English 
version  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  poem.  Conybeare,  comparing  the 
passage  referred  to,  says,  "  the  resemblance  of  language  is  so 
striking,  that  much  of  this  portion  of  Ca-dmon's  ode  may  be  lite- 
rally translated  by  a  hundred  lines  of  our  great  poet." 


222  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 


XXIX. 

THE  SCHOLAR  OF  THE  ROSARY. 

In  a  certain  district  in  the  south  of  France,  about  the 
time  when  B.  Alan  de  la  Roche  was  re\aving-  the  almost 
forg'otten  devotion  of  the  Rosary  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, there  lived  a  noble  lady,  who  governed  her  house- 
hold and  family  in  all  holy  discipline,  and  who  was 
among;  the  first  to  join  the  confraternity  in  honour  of 
the  Mother  of  God,  on  its  re-establishment  in  that 
country.  She  had  an  only  child,  named  Bernard;  a 
boy  whose  disposition  was  as  noble  as  his  birth,  al- 
thou"-h  indeed  he  was  rather  distingiiished  for  the 
ang'elic  innocence  of  his  life  than  for  the  endowment  of 
I  is  mind.  He  Avas  sent  by  his  mother  to  study  at  a 
school  in  the  neig'hbourhood,  from  whence  he  was  wont 
to  return  home  every  evening",  for  she  could  not  resolve 
to  trust  him  away  from  her  own  care  whilst  he  was 
still  so  yoimg'  a  child.  It  does  not  seem  that  Bernard 
was  in  any  way  deficient  in  abilitv;  and  he  even  made 
considerable  progress  in  some  of  his  studies,  especially 
in  g-rammar;  but  he  was  wanting-  in  quickness  and 
vivacity  of  imagination;  and  tlie  composition  of  French 
and  Latin  verses,  which  was  one  of  the  common  school 
tasks  of  liis  class,  became  an  insurmountable  difficulty. 
Many  a  weary  hour  did  the  poor  boy  spend,  striving", 
by  hard  labour  and  toilsome  perseverance,  to  accom- 
plish what  many  a  thoug-htless,  quick-witted  scapesTace 
nad  finished  in  a  few  minutes;  his  constant  failures 
and  his  wretched  verses  made  him  the  butt  of  his  com- 
panions, and  were  always  bring-ing"  him  into  disgrace ; 
and  still  the  more  he  tried,  the  harder  and  more  hope- 
less i'  seemed  to  get  either  ideas  or  verses  out  of  his 
dull  and  tired  brain. 

One  evening",  when  he  returned  home,  after  a  day 
of  unusual  trouble,  he  sat  down  in  disconsolate  mood 
;)n  the  steps  leading  into  tlie  garden,  and  leaning  his 


THE  SCHOLAH  OK  THE  KOSARY.  22'S 

head  on  his  hand,  lie  g^ve  himself  xip  to  very  sorrowftil 
reflections.  He  knew  how  much  his  mother  cared  that 
he  should  grow  up  a  learned  man,  and  then  he  was  at 
the  bottom  of  his  class,  with  the  reputation  of  being-  the 
dunce  of  the  school ;  and  all  because  he  was  not  born 
a  poet :  it  was  certainly  a  little  hard.  Poets,  as  all 
know,  are  born,  not  made ;  and  it  seemed  an  unreason- 
able thing'  to  spend  so  many  a  long'  day  in  trying'  to 
become  what  nature  had  not  made  him.  Verses,  he 
thought,  were  such  unnecessary  things  :  he  could  be  a 
doctor,  a  soldier,  or  even  a  preacher,  and  still  keep  to 
simple  prose ;  he  cotxld  save  his  soul  and  tlie  souls  of 
other  people,  and  never  have  mastered  the  scanning'  of 
an  hexameter :  "  What  can  be  the  use  of  it  all  ? "  he 
muttered  ;  "  if  they  would  but  have  kept  to  grammar !" 
Now,  when  he  had  come  to  this  point  in  his  melancholy 
meditation,  he  was  joined  by  his  mother,  whose  quick 
eye  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  darling,  and  recog- 
nised in  his  attitude,  and  the  heavy  sorrowful  way  that 
his  head  lay  on  his  clasped  hands,  that  something  un- 
usual was  the  matter. 

*'  Bernard,"  she  said, — and  at  the  sound  of  that 
gentle  voice  the  poor  boy  started  to  his  feet  — 
"  what  is  the  matter  ?  Your  hair  is  hanging  about 
your  eyes,  your  cap  is  on  the  gTound,  and  I  see  some- 
thing* very  like  teal's  on  those  white  cheeks  :  moreover, 
this  is  not  the  first  time  that  you  have  come  home 
in  the  same  way ;  but  for  many  weeks  past  I  have 
watched  you  with  an  aching  heart,  and  with  a  sore 
misgiving  lest  the  trouble  should  be  in  your  own  con- 
Science."  Bei-nard  hung  his  head,  Init  did  not  say  a 
word.  "  Do  you  not  speak,  my  child  ? "  continued  his 
mother:  "you  were  never  wont  to  hide  your  sorrows 
thus;  or  is  it,  indeed,  that  you  have  fallen  into  some 
grievous  fault  at  school,  and  fear  to  declare  it  to  mei*" 

"  No,  mother,"  replied  Bernard,  "they  call  me  dunce, 
and  fool,  and  they  speak  truly :  but  thoug-h  now  I 
could  cry,  as  though  my  heart  would  break,  it  is  ibr  no 
fault  that  you  would  deem  a  grievous  one ;  it  is  that  I 


22-t  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

am  not  n  poet."     And  with  these  words,  Bernard  hid 
his  face  on  his  mother's  knee,  and  sobhed  aloud. 

"A  poet,  child  !"  said  his  mother;  "is  that  your  only 
trouble  t  Heard  you  ever  that  poets  were  happier  or 
better  than  other  men,  that  you  should  crave  a  g-it't  that 
bring's  little  ease,  and  ofttimes  less  of  g-race  :  covet  the 
better  gifts,  Bernard,  for  this  is  hardly  Avorth  your 
tears;  a  holy  heart  and  a  spotless  faith  were  ntter 
things  to  weep  after." 

"  But,  mother,"  replied  Bernard,  earnestly,  "  you 
know  not  how  the  case  stands  with  boys :  we  have  to 
learn  so  many  thing;s  you  would  marvel  to  find  the  use 
for ;  and  among-  them  all  there  is  none  so  stranj^-e  to  fit 
a  meaning'  to  as  the  making"  of  these  verses.  And  yet 
Master  Iloland  says  I  am  a  dunce  if  I  do  not  make 
them;  and  shall  abide  as  I  am,  the  Lag-last  of  the 
school,  till  I  better  know  how  to  scan  my  lines,  and  have 
learnt  the  difference  between  a  trochee  and  a  spondee ; 
and  that,"  he  added,  with  a  heavy  sigh,  "  I  shall  never 
learn." 

"  And  so  you  are  in  disf^race  with  Master  Roland 
because  you  write  bad  verses,  is  that  the  case?"  said  his 
motlier ;  "  perhaps  it  rather  is,  that  you  try  not  to  write 
them  better." 

"  Oil,  mother,"  exclaimed  Bernard,  in  a  pitiful  voice, 
"  vou  know  not  what  it  is.  For  first  there  is  the  toil 
to  find  the  words,  and  that  is  not  so  easy;  for  what 
sounds  brave  enoiig-h  in  plain-speaking-  prose,  will  never 
do  for  verse :  tlien  there  are  lines  botk  short  and  long-, 
and  syllables  and  feet  to  be  counted  on  jvmv  fing-ers, 
and  seldom  coimted  rig-ht ;  moreover,  I  know  not  how 
^  it  is,  but  when  I  think  I  have  them  in  their  right  num- 
ber, Master  Koland  is  sure  to  tell  me  they  are  all  in 
the  wrong-  place." 

"  Bernard,"  said  his  mother,  "  I  do  not  think  I  can 
help  to  mend  your  verses,  but  I  may  chance  to  be  able 
to  mend  your  courag-e.  It  was  but  the  other  day  that 
Master  Alan  do  la  Roche  told  me  of  a  student  whose 
books  were  as  g-rievous  to  him  as  any  verses  of  yours 


THE  SCHOLAR  OF  THE  ROSARY.  225 

can  be,  and  yet  he  found  the  way  not  only  to  read 
them,  but  to  write  them  too ;  and  died  a  gi-eat  doctor 
and  professor  in  the  univei-sitv." 

"  And  what  was  his  way  Z"  asked  Bernard.  "  Per 
haps  his  books  were  written  in  prose ;  it  might  have 
been  different  if  they  had  been  poetry." 

"  His  way  was  a  very  simple  one,"  replied*  his 
mother ;  "  he  asked  our  dear  Lady's  help,  and  every  day 
said  the  Rosary  in  her  honour.  I  think  there  is  little 
to  hinder  you  from  doing-  the  same.  Master  Alan  has 
given  you  a  Rosary,  though  I  see  not  that  you  often 
use  it;  take  it  before  her  altar  every  morning-  before 
you  go  to  school,  and  say  the  prayers  as  he  has  taught 
you ;  and  remember  that  no  one  ever  pi-ayed  to  Mary 
without  obtaining  relief." 

Bernard  was  not  slow  in  following  his  mother's 
coimsel ;  and  not  content  with  saying  part  of  the  Ro- 
sary, he  every  day  recited  the  entire  fifteen  mysteries 
on  his  knees  before  the  image  on  Our  Lady's  altar. 
Nor  was  it  long  before  a  sing-ular  change  was  observed 
in  the  boy ;  not  only  did  his  former  dulness  and  heavi- 
ness of  capacity  gradually  disappear,  but  a  certain  depth 
of  feeling  and  gracefulness  of  imagery  was  displayed 
in  his  school-versos,  that  ])laced  them  very  far  above 
the  ordinary  standard  of  such  productions.  How,  in- 
deed, should  it  have  been  otlierwiser*  His  soul  was 
drinking  at  the  very  sources  of  s])iritual  beaut}' ;  and 
in  the  mysteries  of  joy  and  sorrow  antl  glory  which 
formed  I41S  daily  occu{)ation,  he  i)ent.'trated  to  tlie  very 
depths  of  that  divine  life  and  pfi-^sion,  which  supj)lied 
him  witli  a  profoundor  ])athos  tlian  could  be  caught  by 
the  study  of  any  human  emotion.  IMoreover,  the  gra-^ 
cious  names  which  were  thus  constantly  on  liis  lips  sank 
into  his  heart,  and  brought  their  sweetness  with  them  ; 
the  presence  of  Mary  wiis  witli  him  like  an  unseen  com- 
panion ;  and  all  day  long  he  felt  shining  on  his  heart  the 
earnest  g-.ize  of  those  "  merciful  eyes"  he  so  constantly 
invoked  :  it  refined  his  rudeness,  and  warmed  the  slug- 
gish intellect  with  the  Hame  of  spiritual  love;  and  whilst 
<4 


226  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

others  would  praise  their  favourite  poets  for  their  airy 
images  and  lively  fancy,  Bernard  was  happy  in  the 
thoiig'ht  that  the  inspiration  of  his  pen  was  caiig'ht  from 
no  phantom  of  earthly  imagination,  but  from  the  in- 
fluence of  an  abiding-  Reality. 

The  masters  marvelled  at  the  change,  and  said 
ma^y  learned  things  about  the  development  of  the 
understanding;  the  scholars  wondered  also,  and  soon 
came  to  beseech  Bernard  to  help  them  in  their  tasks  j 
as  for  the  boy  himself,  the  light  in  his  soul  had  stolen 
into  it  with  such  a  soft  and  quiet  gentleness,  that  he 
hardly  knew  the  change ;  and  when  they  praised  and 
questioned  him  as  to  whence  he  drew  his  thoughts  and 
imagery,  he  was  wont  to  answer,  with  a  wondering  sim- 
plicity, that  any  one  might  do  the  same,  for  he  found 
it  all  in  the  Rosary.  This  reply,  which  he  constantly 
gave,  soon  became  talked  about  among  the  rest,  and 
gained  him  the  title  among  his  companions  of  the 
Scholar  of  the  Rosary. 

Every  one  now  predicted  great  things  of  Bernard  ; 
he  was  the  head  of  his  class  and  of  the  school ;  the 
highest  awards  of  learning,  he  was  told,  were  now 
within  his  grasp ;  with  that  delicate  and  subtle  fancy, 
and  tliat  solidity  of  understanding,  he  might  aspire  to 
any  thing;  the  professor's  chair  or  the  doctor's  cap 
would  never  surely  be  denied  him.  But  their  liopes 
and  expectations  were  not  to  be  realised ;  for  the  Sclio- 
lar  of  Mary  a  higher  and  very  diiferent  distinction  was 
in  store.  One  day  he  came  home  as  usual,  and  com- 
plained of  an  aching  pain  in  his  eyes ;  before  the  mom- 
mg  the  inflammation  had  increased  to  such  a  degree, 
that  he  could  not  bear  the  light,  and  was  obliged  to 
keep  his  bed  in  a  darkened  room,  where,  spite  of  every 
care  and  remedy  which  his  mother's  tenderness  could 
bestow,  he  suflered  tlie  extremity  of  pain.  For  two 
montlis  he  lay  in  this  state,  wliilst  the  disease  gradually 
nssumed  a  more  dangerous  oJiaracter.  The  physicians 
d'.'sired  that  every  ray  of  daylight  should  be  excluded 
from  his  I'oom,  imd  the  utmost  care  taken  to  preserve 


\       THE  SCHOLAR  OF  THE  HOSARY.  227 

the  sligfhtest  object  from  uritating  the  eye;  an  order 
which  was  strictly  obeyed. 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  his  pain  and  increasing 
weakness,  nothing-  prevented  Bernard  from  fulfilling 
his  customary  prayers.  Every  day,  as  usual,  he  re- 
cited the  fifteen  Mysteries  of  the  Rosary,  and  comforted 
his  mother,  when  he  grieved  over  the  blindness  t^at 
threatened  him,  by  saying*  his  devotion  was  one  winch 
needed  neither  book  nor  daylight  to  help  it,  but  only 
the  familiar  touch  of  those  dear  beads  that  never  left 
his  neck.  Alas,  blindness  was  before  long  not  the  only 
evil  she  had  to  di'ead;  it  was  soon  evident  that  the 
malady  had  reached  a  fatal  form,  which  no  human  skill 
could  avail  to  remedy.  Bernard  was  to  die ;  all  the 
great  hopes  excited  by  his  newly-displayed  talents  van- 
ished into  thin  air ;  and  those  whose  tongues  had  been 
so  busy  with  his  precocious  genius  were  now  loud  in 
deploring  the  loss  of  one  from  whom  so  brilliant  a  ca- 
reer might  have  been  expected.  As  to  his  mother,  she 
thought  little  of  such  things ;  and  if  she  mourned  her 
own  loss,  her  grief  had  its  consolation  too;  for  she  knew 
the  innocence  of  his  soul,  and  had  the  sure  hope  that 
she  was  but  ti-usting  him  to  tlie  arms  of  a  more  loving 
Mother  than  herself  But  there  were  the  last  deathbed 
duties  to  be  performed;  the  priest  was  in  the  house;  and 
before  administering  the  Viaticum  and  the  holy  Unc- 
tion, he  was  to  receive  the  last  confession  of  the  dying 
child. 

His  mother  entered  the  room  to  prei)arc  him  for  the 
coming  of  the  jn-iest ;  and  as  she  did  so,  she  desired 
the  attendant  to  bring  a  candle  into  the  still-darkened 
chambei'. 

"  AVhat  need  of  a  candle  ?"  said  the  boy;  "  tell  them 
that  it  is  not  wanted." 

"  It  is  for  the  pi-iest.  my  child,"  she  replied.  "  You 
will  try  and  bear  tlie  light  for  d  few  minutes;  for  the 
good  father  is  come  to  hear  yotu"  confession,  and  he 
could  not  see  to  enter  without  a  light." 

"  But  there  is  light,"  he  replied  ;   "  the  room  is  full 


228  CATHOLIC  LKGKNDS. 

of  it,  and  has  never  been  dark  to  me.     I  wonder  that 
you  do  not  see  it." 

"What  hg-ht?"  asked  the  priest,  who  was  hy  this 
time  hending:  over  him.  "  Your  mother  and  I  iu-e 
standing  here,  but  to  our  eyes  tlie  room  is  darkened 
still." 

-  "It  is  from  Our  Lady,"  replied  the  boy;  "she  is 
here  by  my  bedside,  and  the  rays  are  shining-  from  her, 
and  make  it  day.  Tliere  has  never  been  darkness  hero 
since  I  have  been  ill." 

The  priest  felt  an  awe  stealing*  over  him,  and  invo- 
luntarily bowed  his  head  towards  the  spot  indicated  by 
the  child. 

"  And  does  that  light  hurt  your  eyes  ?"  he  asked ; 
"  yon  could  not  bear  the  daylight." 

"  It  is  joy,"  answered  Bernard  faintly, — "joy  and 
glory;  the  sorrow  is  all  gone  now  !"  and  the  priest  saw 
that  in  his  last  words  he  was  still  thinking'  of  the  Rosary. 
And  so  he  died;  and  those  whom  he  left  needed  not 
the  evidence  of  miracles  to  assure  them  that  tlie  Scholar 
of  Mary  had  been  taken  to  the  fulness  of  that  glory, 
something  of  whose  radiance  had  thus  rested  over  his 
dying  bed.* 


XXX. 

THE  LEGEND  OF  ST.  HUBERT. 

In  the  reign  of  the  Frankish  king  Tlieodoric  tlie  Third, 
there  lived  in  Acpiitain  a  certain  nobleman  who  bore 
the  name  of  Count  Hubert.  In  his  youth  he  liad  gone 
tliroug'h  various  trials  of  fortune,  for  tlie  enmity  of  the 
celebrated  Ebroin,  marshal  of  the  king's  ])alace,  had 
compelled  him  to  tiy  from  his  country  and  take  refuge 

*  The  substance  of  the  above  may  be  found  in  the  work  of 
Father  Girolamo  Taix  on  tlie  Rosary. 


8T.  HUBERT.  229 

for  a  time  in  the  service  of  Pepin  of  Hei'sta],  mayor  of 
Austrasia,  somewhere  about  the  year  081.  He  was, 
however,  enabled  to  return  to  his  own  dominions  on  tlie 
death  of  Ebroin,  which  is  connected  with  a  leg'cndary 
tale  of  peculiar  horror.  For  it  is  said,  tliat  on  a  certain 
day  some  monks  had  wandered  out  from  their  convent, 
and  were  sitting-  by  tlie  banks  of  the  river  that  tlowed 
by  the  place,  where  they  w^ere  indulging"  in  somewhat 
vain  and  idle  conversation.  Their  merriment  Avas  inter- 
rupted by  the  sound  of  oai-s,  which  seemed  as  if  coming- 
up  tlie  river ;  and  looking  to  see  the  vessel  from  which 
the  sound  proceeded,  they  could  perceive  nothing.  Still, 
however,  the  stroke  of  the  mysterious  oars  sounded 
every  minute  nearer  and  nearer,  they  could  hear  the 
water  wasliing  round  the  prow  of  the  invisible  boat, 
which  came  on  at  gTeat  speed,  and  now  it  seemed  oppo- 
site the  very  place  w-here  they  sat.  "  Who  are  you," 
they  cried,  "who  row  in  that  boat?"  for  they  were 
seized  with  an  indescribable  terror.  The  answer  came 
over  the  water  in  tones  that  struck  to  tiieir  hearts  like 
ice : 

"  We  are  demons,  who  are  carrying  away  the  soul 
of  Ebroin,  mayor  of  the  palace  to  king  Tlieodoric ;  for 
he  is  an  apostate  from  the  monastery  of  St.  Gall." 

"Holy  Mary,  help  us!"  cried  tlie  monks,  as  they 
listened  trembling  to  the  awful  words;  but  the  infernal 
voices  spoke  again  : 

"  Well  in;iy  you  invoke  Mary,"  they  cried ;  "  for 
we  had  thought  to  have  taken  you  also,  because  you 
were  s{)eaking  unfitting  words  at  an  unseasonable  time." 
And  with  this  warning  the  sound  of  the  oai-s  recom- 
menced, and  the  vessel  was  once  more  heard  sol'tly 
parting  the  waters  before  her,  until  the  echoes  of  the 
strokes  died  away  in  tlie  distance. 

This  story  jtrobably  never  reached  the  ears  of  Hu- 
bert; for  at  the  time  of  I'^liroiii's  detith,  and  his  own  re- 
turn to  his  subjects  and  dominions,  he  bimselt"  avos  slill 
a  pagan.  And  yet,  tliougli  he  served  the  false  ^i'^nh, 
and  knew  nothing  of  the  light  of  the  Gospel,  something 


230  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

of  its  influence  seemed  to  have  stolen  unawares  into  hia 
soul.  He  was  loved  as  a  mild  and  gracious  lord  by  all 
under  his  rule,  and  the  virtues  which  he  practised,  even 
in  this  time  of  heathen  ignorance,  drew  on  him  the 
favourable  eye  of  God,  who  called  him  to  the  faith  by 
a  special  miracle, — similar  to  that  already  recorded  of 
the  martyr  Placidus.*  Hubert  was  passionately  ad- 
dicted to  the  chase ;  and  one  Friday  he  rode  out  with 
a  great  hunting'-train  to  follow  the  deer  in  the  forests 
of  Aquitain.  When  they  had  ridden  some  time,  there 
suddenly  sprang"  out  of  the  thicket  the  fairest  hart  that 
hunter's  eye  could  rest  on.  She  was  milk-white,  and 
of  a  g'entle  and  delicate  form,  and  she  bounded  along- 
the  forest-g'lade  with  such  a  winged  and  airy  move- 
ment, that  her  hoofs  scarcely  seemed  to  shake  the 
morning'  dew  from  the  g'rass  that  gTew  upon  her  path. 
Then  the  horsemen  all  put  spurs  to  their  steeds,  and 
the  bug-les  sounded  long-  and  joyously,  and  Hubert, 
full  of  the  excitement  of  the  sport,  put  himself  at 
the  head  of  the  train,  and  soon  left  them  far  behind 
as  he  followed  in  the  track  of  the  mj'sterious  deer,  un- 
thoug^ht  of  by  the  Imntsmen.  He  g-ained  rapidly  on  his 
game,  nay,  he  was  even  within  arm's  length  of  her,  and 
was  about  to  strike  her  with  his  lance,  when  to  his  sur- 
prise she  stopped  her  rapid  bounds,  and  tui-ning-  as 
though  to  meet  him,  he  saw  between  her  horns  the 
figure  of  a  crucified  man  surrounded  by  a  great  light. 

He  checked  his  arm  as  it  was  about  to  give  tlie 
fatal  blow,  and  gazed  with  wonder  on  the  sight  before 
him.  As  he  did  so,  a  voice  came  from  the  lips  of  the 
figtu'c,  and  sj)()ke  to  him  in  sweet  and  jtlaintive  tones. 
"  Hubert,"  it  said,  "  how  long  wilt  thou  chase  the  wild 
beasts  of  the  forest  ?  Is  this  a  day,  tliinkest  thou,  to 
follow  thine  idle  sport, — a  day  whereon  I,  wlio  am  the 
true  God,  died  for  thee  and  all  mfen,  even  as  thou  dost 
see  before  thee':"' 

Hubert  threw  himself  from  his  horse  and  knelt  with 

♦  See  p.  139. 


ST.  HUBERT.  231 

tears  of  emotion  before  the  figure  of  his  Lord.  Tlie 
truths  of  Christianity  were  not  entirely  unknown  to 
him,  and  he  had  no  difficult}'  in  underetanding"  the 
language  which  he  heard,  and  which  he  hesitated  not 
to  interpret  as  a  divine  call  to  the  religion  he  had 
hitlierto  despised ;  moreover,  the  gift  of  faitli  was  in 
his  heart,  and  yielding  to  the  power  of  its  influence,  he 
said  in  accents  of  deep  humility,  "  0  my  Lord  and  my 
God,  hitherto  I  have  not  known  Thee;  but  now  I  will 
serve  Thee  in  all  things  whereunto  Thou  callest  me. 
Speak,  therefore,  I  beseech  Thee,  and  show  me  what 
thou  wouldest  have  me  to  do,  that  I  may  be  saved." 

And  the  Lord  answered  him,  and  said  these  words  : 
"  Hubert,  he  that  would  follow  i\Ie  must  take  up  his 
cross,  and  come  after  Me.  Go  to  Lambert,  the  Bishop 
of  Utrecht,  and  he  shall  show  thee  what  thou  must 
do,"  With  these  words  the  vision  ceased ;  when  Hu- 
bei-t  looked  up  again  the  white  hart  was  gone,  and  he 
found  himsolf  kneeling  alone  in  the  forest-glade,  with 
his  horse  quietly  feeding  beside  him. 

He  mounted,  and  full  of  thouglit  rode  in  quest  of 
his  companions ;  when  they  would  have  questioned  him 
concerning  his  success  witli  the  deer,  he  was  silent ;  and 
they  deemed  that  perhaps  a  sportman's  vanity  deterred 
him  from  speaking-  of  the  failure  of  his  sport ;  and  so, 
sunk  in  deep  abstraction,  he  rode  homewards,  wliilst  his 
retainers  followed  him,  wondering  at  the  unusual  manner 
of  their  master. 

Before  that  day's  sun  had  set,  Hubert  set  out  alone 
for  Utrecht;  nor  did  he  draw  rein  till  he  found  himself 
before  the  palace  of  the  holy  bishop  who  then  governed 
the  Chiu'ch  in  that  city.  Something-  of  similarity  ex- 
isted between  tlie  early  history  of  these  two  men. 
Lambert,  like  Hubert,  had  known  the  sorrows  and 
trials  of  a  long"  and  unjust  exile.  For  wlien  ho  was 
still  young  he  had  been  raised  to  the  episcopal  tlu'one 
of  Maestricht,  from  which  the  cabals  and  jealousy  of 
King  Childeric's  courtiers  had  succeeded  in  driving 
him.     After  wandering  about  for  some  time  as  ji  lionie- 


232  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

less  and  houseless  strang-er,  lie  at  leng-th  entered  a  mon- 
astery of  the  country,  and  lived  there  for  some  years, 
happy  in  the  resignation  of  a  dig-nity  for  which  his 
humility  persuaded  him  he  was  vmfit.  This  lumiility 
was  evinced  on  many  occasions,  one  of  which  is  thus 
related  in  his  leg*end.  One  night,  it  is  said,  as  he  rose 
to  pray,  he  iniintentionally  made  a  slight  noise  on  the 
pavement  of  the  cloister.  The  abhot  of  the  monastery 
was  disturbed  by  tlie  noise,  and  g-ave  orders  that  who- 
ever was  moving  at  that  unseasonable  hour  should  out 
of  penance  go  to  tlie  cross  out  of  doors,  and  remain 
there  for  a  certain  space.  Lambert  meekly  obeyed; 
nor  did  he  venture  to  return  till  he  should  be  sent  for. 
It  was  a  cold  winter  night ;  the  snow  lay  deep  around 
him,  and  fell  on  his  person  in  hea\'y  flakes ;  his  feet 
and  head  were  bare,  and  were  pierced  by  tlie  bitter 
frost,  yet  he  remained  patient  and  in  prayer.  Mean- 
while the  brethren  rose  to  matins ;  and  when  the  office 
was  finished,  according  to  custom  they  assembled  before 
the  fire,  to  warm  tliemselves  before  again  retiring  to 
rest.  The  abbot  looked  around  him,  and  missed  one  of 
the  number.  '^  Where  is  the  Bishop  Lambert,"  he 
said ;  for  his  dignity  was  always  acknowledged  by  the 
brethren,  to  whom  the  history  of  his  misfortunes  and 
exile  were  well  known. 

"  May  it  please  you,  my  lord,"  said  one  of  tliem, 
'*he  is  praying  by  the  cross  outside;  though,  as  I  tliink, 
the  snow  is  falling  lieavily,  and  the  frost  is  slinrp." 

Then  the  abbot  bade  tliem  quickly  call  him  in;  and 
when  he  was  come,  he  fell  at  his  feet,  and  besoiig'ht 
his  pardon  for  what  he  had  done ;  but  tlie  saint  smiled 
sweetly  at  him,  and  said  without  the  smallest  apj)ear- 
ance  of  anger,  "  My  father,  one  learns  patience  at  the 
foot  of  the  cross  yonder."  Such  was  the  man  to  whom 
Hubert  now  applied  for  instru;  tion  in  tlie  faith.  It  need 
hardly  be  said  that,  together  Avith  the  rudiments  of 
Chiistian  doctrine,  he  received  from  his  hands  the  teach- 
ing and  direction  which  tended  to  lead  him  on  to  the 
higliest  paths  of  perfection ;  so  that  he  soon  ])ecame  di- 


ST.  HUBERT.  233 

vested  of  all  love  of  the  world,  and  all  care  for  liis 
riches  and  lands,  and  the  empty  toNi^s  of  honour  which 
had  hitherto  seemed  g-ood  and  desirable  in  his  eyes,  and 
sought  only  to  adhere  closely  to  Christ  in  the  way  of 
povei-ty  and  mortification. 

He  came  back  to  his  castle  and  lands  in  Aquitain 
only  to  bid  them  farewell  for  ever.  Calling"  his  peoj)le 
about  him,  he  declared  to  them  all  things  that  had  passed, 
and  how  that  he  had  resolved  to  answer  the  strange 
call  which,  had  been  sent  to  him,  by  an  entire  abandon- 
ment of  the  world.  His  bondmen  were  set  at  liberty, 
his  retainers  dismissed  with  generous  presents,  his  goods 
and  lands  sold,  and  the  price  distributed  to  the  poor ; 
and  when  all  this  was  done,  and  Hubert  saw  himself 
reduced  frorn  the  state  and  condition  of  a  powerful 
count  to  that  of  a  poor  and  nameless  beggar,  he  turned 
his  back  with  a  light  heart  on  the  county  where  but  a 
short  time  before  he  had  ruled  and  been  honoured  as  its 
lord. 

The  next  thing  was  to  chose  out  a  solitude  for  his 
future  home,  where  he  might  apply  himself  with  greater 
diligence  to  the  life  which  he  had  resolved  to  follow. 
This  was  soon  done  ;  the  broad  valleys  of  France  and 
Flanders  Avere  not  wanting  in  sj)ots  whose  loneliness 
presented  him  witli  ali  he  required.  In  one  of  the  most 
savage  of  these  deserts  he  chose  liis  abode ;  scooj)ing 
out  of  the  hard  rock  his  little  cell  and  cliapel,  where  lie 
spent  some  time  in  a  life  of  prayer  :ind  penance,  whicli 
offered  a  strange  contrast  to  the  ^ry  and  gallant  days 
he  had  been  wont  to  pass  in  his  nibble  castle  of  A(|ui- 
tain. 

Now,  he  had  no  comrades  save  the  wild  beasts  of 
the  forest,  whom  he  no  longer  pursued  as  game,  but 
tamed  and  maile  his  friends,  so  tliat  they  grew  familiar 
with  his  form,  and  ranged  fearlessly  about  his  cell;  the 
timid  deer,  too,  were  especially  dear  to  him,  in  memory 
of  that  "  milk-white  doe"  who  had  been  made  the  am- 
bassador of  his  salvation;  they  would  come  around  him 
and  feed  out  of  his  hand,  and  peiiiaps  it  was  not  the 


234  CATHOLIC  LKUENUS. 

least  singular  part  of  the  transformation  which  had 
taken  place  in  Hubert's  nature,  that  the  bold  and  ardent 
sportsman  was  now  turned  into  the  protector  of  all  tiie 
dumb  creatures  of  his  solitude. 

His  only  food  was  the  wild  fruit  of  the  forest,  and 
the  crystal  stream  that  flowed  over  its  rocky  bed  beside 
his  hermitag'e ;  he  slept  on  the  stone  floor,  and  was  clad 
in  a  roug-h  sheej)skin;  and  yet,  despite  his  hard  and 
penitential  life,  Hubert  felt  that  he  had  never  known 
happiness  before.  And  yet  there  were  not  wanting- 
enemies  to  disturb  his  quiet,  for  the  demons  assaulted 
him  day  and  nig-ht,  and  strove  to  trouble  and  tempt 
him  with  their  darkest  sug'g;estions ;  but  he  met  them 
stoutly,  like  a  brave  and  valiant  knig-ht,  and  drove  them 
fi'om  him  with  contempt :  and  thus  sixteen  years  g-lided 
rapidly  away. 

Now  one  niglit,  as  he  lay  on  his  hard  bed,  he  was 
awakened  by  a  brig-htand  shining-  light,  which  streamed 
through  the  rocky  cavern,  and  seemed  to  turn  its  dark- 
ness into  day.  He  looked  up,  and  saw  a  beautiful  and 
heavenly  form  bending*  over  his  couch  ;  the  lovely  head 
was  crowned  with  a  diadem  that  seemed  rather  of  glory 
than  of  gold,  wings  of  dazzling-  lustre  and  many  colours 
floated  from  the  shoulders,  and  the  soft  friendly  eyes 
looked  down  on  him  with  a  brother's  love.  Hubei-t 
knew  that  his  guardian-angel  was  beside  him.  "  Arise," 
said  the  sweet  and  musical  voice  oftlie  celestial  visitor; 
''arise,  for  thou  hast  tarried  long  enough  in  this  soli- 
tude; and  lienceforth  God  liath  olhei-  ways  fur  thee  to 
walk  in :  arise,  and  go  to  Kome,  it  is  there  His  will 
shall  be  declared  to  tliee." 

Hubert  scarcely  knew  what  to  think;  for  the  deceits 
and  frauds  of  the  devil  had  taught  him  to  mistrust  even 
tlie  fairest  visions,  lest  j)ercliance  they  shoukl  but  con- 
ceal diabolic  and  dangerous  delusions.  He  detei-niined, 
therefore,  to  lay  the  whole  matter  before  his  spiritual 
master  St.  Lambert;  and  setting  out  towards  Utrecht,  he 
soon  arrived  in  his  presence,  and  nari-ated  all  that  had 
occurred.    The  venerable  bishoi)  listpiied  to  his  tale  with 


ST.  HCBERT.  Q'-iH 

attention,  and  when  he  had  finished,  he  laid  his  hands 
<an  his  disciple's  head,  and  affectionately  blessed  him. 
"  Go  now,"  he  said,  "  son  of  my  adoption  and  of  my 
old  ag-e,  for  this  thing'  is  from  the  hands  of  God ;  ofo, 
and  fear  nothing- ;  for  verily  I  know  that  gTeat  things 
lie  before  thee,  and  that  the  burden  which  weighs  too 
heavily  on  weak  and  aged  shoulders  shall  pass  to  them 
that  are  fitter  to  bear  it."  Hubert  arose,  wondering 
at  the  Bishop's  words,  whose  meaning*,  however,  he  did 
not  devise ;  and  in  obedience  to  the  command  he  had 
received,  he  set  out  for  the  city  of  Rome,  where  St. 
Sergius  I.  then  filled  the  pontifical  chair. 

Whilst  Hubert  was  pursuing-  his  long  and  painful 
journey,  a  terrible  tragedy  was  taking-  place  in  the  city 
ne  had  left  behind  him.  Tlie  bold  and  fearless  sim- 
plicity with  which  the  holy  Bishop  Lambert  was  wont 
to  reprove  sin  wheresoever  he  met  with  it,  could  scarcely 
fail  to  raise  him  many  enemies.  Two  of  the  most  unprin- 
cipled men  of  Utrecht,  who  had  suffered  from  the  sharp 
reproof  of  the  Bishop,  excited  a  tumult  against  him, 
which  ended  in  the  loss  of  their  own  life.  A  relation 
of  these  two  men,  named  Dodo,  and  an  officer  of  Pe- 
pin's household,  swore  to  revenge  their  death,  and  the 
opportunity  of  gratifying-  his  revenge  soon  ])resented 
itself.  Pepin  subjected  himself  by  the  license  of  his 
life  to  the  reprimands  of  his  Bisliop,  who,  in  the  exer- 
cise of  his  apostolic  functions,  never  spared  rank  or 
dignity ;  but  dealt  his  censures  to  all,  without  respect 
of  persons. 

Taking-  advantag-e,  therefore,  of  the  disgiist  which 
his  boldness  had  caused  in  the  prince's  mind,  Dodo  per- 
suaded him  to  g-ive  him  the  command  of  a  body  of  men, 
at  whose  head  he  proceeded  to  the  Bishop's  ])alace,  and 
bade  him  prepare  for  death.  St.  Lambert's  death  was 
wortliy  of  his  life ;  wliilst  the  ruffians  were  battering  at 
the  palace-doors,  he  called  his  attendants  about  him, 
and  bade  them  confess  their  sins  and  prepare  for  death ; 
and  having  given  them  his  blessmg,  he  himself  knelt 
(Iflwn,  and  awaited  tlip  blows  of  his  mui-dfrers  in  praver. 


236  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

His  body  was  buried  in  his  own  cathedral,  amid  the 
tears  and  lamentations  of  his  people. 

Meanwhile,  we  must  carry  our  reader  to  the  city  of 
Rome,  where  the  first  streak  of  early  dawn  was  just 
breaking'  its  golden  bars  on  the  night's  horizon,  when 
Pope  S^rgius  was  aroused  from  his  sleep  by  a  hand  that 
lightly  touched  his  shoulder ;  he  awoke,  and  started  as 
he  beheld  an  angel  standing  by  his  bed.  "Sleepest 
thou,  0  Sergius  ?"  said  the  messenger  of  God  ;  "  mark 
well  the  words  I  say,  and  forget  them  not.  This  night 
there  hath  been  a  bloody  deed  done  in  Utrecht,  and  the 
Church  of  God  hath  lost  a  faithful  and  true  pastor ;  for 
the  holy  Bishop  Lambert  is  gone  to  God.  The  sword 
of  the  ruffian  Dodo  is  even  now  reeking  with  his  blood, 
and  the  widowed  Church  of  Utrecht  is  bewailing  him 
in  her  tears.  And  even  as  I  sjjeak,  his  son  and  beloved 
disciple  Hubert  is  entering  Rome,  not  knowing  where- 
fore he  hath  been  led  hither,  save  that  the  hand  of  God 
is  giiiding  him.  He  it  is,  0  Sergius,  whom  thou  must 
name  to  the  vacant  see,  nor  shall  a  sign  be  wonting  to 
show  thee  that  this  is  tlie  sure  will  of  God ;  for  this  is 
the  staff  which  thou  shalt  place  into  his  hands,  and  thou 
shalt  learn  that  he  is  most  fit  and  worthy  to  bear  it." 

Witli  these  words  the  angel  placed  in  the  hands  of 
the  astonished  Pontiff  a  richly-ornamented  ])astoral  staff*, 
and  disappeared.  He  would  have  taken  the  whole  to 
have  been  only  a  strange  and  distressing  dream,  if  the 
staff  which  he  still  held,  and  which  he  recognised  as 
the  episcopal  crosier  of  the  holy  Bishop  of  Utrecht,  had 
not  given  evidence  of  the  reality  of  his  vision;  wherefore 
he  arose  in  haste,  and  gave  orders  that  search  slioidd 
immediately  be  made  throughout  the  whole  of  Rome 
until  the  Frankish  pilgrim,  who  had  tliat  morning  en- 
tered it,  should  be  found  and  brought  before  him. 

Many  hours  had  not  elapsed  before  the  messengers 
of  the  Pontiff,  having  succeeaed  in  their  errand,  ushered 
the  pilgrim  into  the  papal  presence.  Sergius  regarded 
him  with  an  earnest  and  inquiring  eye :  the  sixteen 
years  of  solitude  had  wrouglit  many  changes  in  the 


ST.  HUBEKT.  237 

gallant  and  knightly  fomi  of  Count  Hubert,  and  yet 
neither  their  lapse,  nor  the  rough  sheepskin  g-armerit 
which  he  still  wore,  were  able  entirely  to  conceal  the 
nobility  of  his  bearing*.  But  it  was  not  the  indications 
of  g-entle  and  courtly  training'  that  arrested  the  eye  of 
the  holy  PontitFj  it  was  the  meek  and  saintly  air  that 
breathed  in  his  open  brow  and  g-entle  eye,  and  the  lines 
which  told  how  those  pale  cheeks  had  been  worn  by 
long-  years  of  prayer  and  penance,  which  still,  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other,  had  diminished  aught  of  the 
gladness  and  joyousness  of  a  heart  which  had  found  its 
perfect  rest  in  Cod. 

"  What  is  thy  name  ?"  asked  the  Pontiff  at  length, 
after  Hubert  had  knelt  for  some  time  in  silence  at  his  feet. 

"They  call  me  Hubert,"  he  replied  humbly;  for  he 
had  no  thought  of  further  declaring  his  dignity,  or  the 
history  of  his  life.  "  I  come  from  Aquitain,  and  have 
travelled  hither  by  the  order  of  Lambert  of  Utrecht,  of 
whom  I  am  the  unworthy  priest  and  follower." 

"Tiiou  hast  had  a  worthy  master,"  said  Sergius 
gently, — for  he  feared  to  declare  the  fate  of  the  murdered 
bishop  with  too  much  suddenness;  "when  did  you  hear 
of  tlie  holy  man,  and  what  tidings  did  you  gather?" 

"  May  it  please  your  holiness,"  re])lied  Hubert,  "  I 
have  travelled  these  many  weeks  over  mountains  and 
desert  roads  on  foot,  and  have  scarce  spoken  to  any 
man,  nor  have  I  heard  aught  of  my  good  father  and 
master  since  the  day  I  parted  from  him  at  Utrecht." 

Sergius  paused  for  a  moment  in  thought;  then 
taking  the  pilgTim  by  the  hand,  he  said,  "  Thou  shalt 
come  with  me  to  a  place  where  I  will  tell  thee  tidings 
of  him,  which  were  better  for  thee  to  hear  there  than 
here ;"  and,  so  saying,  he  led  his  astonished  visitor  to 
the  great  Basilica  of  St.  Peter,  and  standing  by  the 
tomb  of  the  apostle,  he  declared  to  him  in  gentle  and 
atlectionate  terms  how  the  holy  Lambert  had  met  with 
a  martyr's  death.  Hubert  wej)t  bitterly,  for  the  love 
he  bore  his  saintly  bishop  was  a  true  and  filial  one. 
*-Thou  must  take  courage,"  said  the  voice  of  the  good 


238  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

Pontiff,  as  ho  bent  over  him  with  the  ::endemess  of 
another  father ;  "  for  my  tiding-s  are  not  ended  yet : 
thou  art  lie  whom  God  designs  to  fill  the  throne  wliich 
the  sword  of  Dodo  has  rendered  emptv ;  and  it  is  for 
this  that  his  ang-el  has  broug-lit  thee  hither,  and  has  led 
thee  to  me  even  at  tliis  hour,  and  has  taug'ht  me  also 
what  I  must  do,  and  what  thou,  0  Hubert,  must  not 
refuse  to  obey ;  for  thou  art  now  Bishop  of  Utrecht." 

Hubert  was  silent,  lor  his  tears  still  flowed  fast  for 
his  martyred  bishop,  and  he  knew  not  how  to  answer; 
at  length  he  looked  up  with  Jiis  weeping-  eyes  to  the 
countenance  ofSerg-ius,  and  replied,  "All  praise,  and 
love,  and  honour,  and  glory  be  to  God,  for  ever  and 
ever.  Amen." 

They  were  the  words  with  which  he  offered  himself 
in  obedience  to  the  unquestioned  will  of  God ;  and  Ser- 
g"ius  understood  their  import.  Giving-  him  his  bene- 
diction as  he  knelt,  he  embraced  him  affectionately, 
and  said,  "  We  will  both  ]M-ay  before  the  altar  of  the 
Apostles,  and  will  ask  the  ]\Iother  of  gi'ace  and  mercy 
to  guide  us  aright  in  this  matter;"  and  both  accorcl- 
mgiy  prostrated  before  the  sacred  shrine,  and  remained 
for  some  minutes  in  silent  prayer.  It  may  be  said  of 
the  whole  life  of  Hubert,  that  it  was  passed  under  the 
ministry  of  angels ;  something,  perhn})s,  in  his  gentle 
and  loving  nature,  made  him  very  dear  to  those  lieavenly 
beings,  and  drew  them  closely  and  familiarly  to  his 
side ;  for  now  again  we  are  told  the  prayer  of  the  two 
saints  then  kneeling  before  tlie  Apostles'  tomb  was  not 
long  in  finding-  its  answer,  and  that  answer  was  brought 
as  befor(!  by  tlie  hands  of  an  angel.  He  stood  belbre 
them  holding-  a  stole  in  his  hand,  and  he  laid  it  on  the 
neck  of  Hubert,  saying-,  *^  This  comes  to  thee  from  the 
Mother  of  Gud  ;"  then  he  placed  a  golden  key  in  his 
rig-ht  hand,  and  added,  "  and  this  from  the  Prince  of 
God's  Church  and  })eo])le,  and  with  it  slialt  tliou  loose 
and  bind  tlie  souls  of  thy  flock."  And  when  Hubert 
had  received  the  stole  and  the  key,  he  knew  that  the 
v.-\\\  of  God  was  clear  and  manifest,  and  he  dared  not 


ST.  HUBERT.  239 

refuse  the  oflBce  to  which  he  had  thus  been  called  and 
appointed. 

The  Requiem  Mass  for  the  soul  of  Lambert  Avas 
filling-  the  minster  of  Utrecht  Avith  its  solemn  and  la- 
mentable tones.  The  people  crowded  the  long-  aisles  of 
the  church,  and  their  tears  and  sig-hs  minglea  -with  the 
sad  notes  of  the  funeral  cKant.  Some  weeks  had  passed 
since  his  death,  and  at  first  they  had  scarce  dared  to 
give  vent  to  their  sorrow,  throug'h  fear  of  veng-eance  of 
the  tyrant  Dodo  ;  but  when  at  leng-th  the  clerg-y  would 
no  long-er  delay  to  perform  the  public  rites  of  his  funeral, 
all  Utrecht  assembled  to  honour  the  memory  of  one 
whom  they  hesitated  not  to  declare  had  died  a  martyr's 
death.  The  news  of  their  proceedings  reached  the  ears 
of  the  incensed  Dodo,  and  drew  from  him  a  torrent  of 
angry  words  ;  but  his  ang"er  was  increased,  and  carried 
to  a  fearful  heig'ht,  when  a  messenger  hastily  entered 
his  presence  with  the  tiding-s  that  Hubert,  the  disciple 
and  friend  of  the  murdered  bisliop,  had  been  appointed 
to  succeed  him,  and  was  even  then  but  an  hour's  journey 
from  the  city-gates, 

"Never  shall  he  enter  those  g-ates  alive,"  ex- 
claimed the  ferocious  tyrant ;  and  calling*  tog-ether  his 
retainers,  he  set  out  at  their  head,  and  rode  at  a  furious 
pace  to  meet  the  new  bishoji,  wlio  was  making-  his  way, 
accompanied  by  two  attendants,  towards  the  city,  where 
a  few  weeks  before  he  had  parted  with  his  friend. 

It  was  a  sti-ang-e  contrast  as  they  met :  Hubert  and 
his  comj)anions  were  on  foot ;  the  dust  of  their  long-  and 
weary  jouriu^y  lay  on  them,  and  scarcely  would  you 
have  jutlg-ed  from  their  poor  and  way-worn  appearance 
that  they  jiretended  to  any  higlier  dig-iiity  than  that  of 
the  humblest  of  tlie  ])easaiitry.  Dodo  and  liis  followers 
were  mounted  antl  armed  after  the  jirofuse  fasliion  of  a 
semi-barbarous  court ;  their  corslets  glittered  with  gold, 
and  tlieir  plumed  helmets  Hashed  like  tlie  sun  in  tlie 
eyes  of  the  simple  travellers,  whom  a  sudden  turn  in 
tlie  forest-roatl  bi-cjught  face  to  face  with  their  enemies. 
Nor  was  it  long-  before  the  deadly  intention  of  the  ti-ooj» 


240  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

before  tlieni  became  evident ;  witb  many  a  blaspberay 
and  word  of"impious/)ut-rage  ag-ainst  God  and  the  saints, 
Dodo  called  on  his  men  to  the  slaug'hter  of  the  tln-ee 
pilgrims;  and  Hidjert,  whose  heart  bounded  for  one 
short  moment  with  delig-ht,  as  the  hope  of  a  speedy 
martyrdom  rose  before  him,  folded  his  hands  on  liis 
breast,  and  waited  quietly  to  receive  the  shock  of  the 
impetuous  charg-ers. 

Another  moment,  and  they  had  vanished  from  his 
eyes  !  He  hardly  dai'ed  believe  the  scene  that  stretched 
before  them,  and  yet  its  terrible  reality  was  too  clear 
for  liim  to  doubt.  There  was  a  fearful  chasm  in  the 
road,  that  at  one  moment  before  lay  so  peacefully  in 
the  morning"  sunshine  j  and  as  he  drew  near  and  g-nzed 
into  its  awfid  dej)tlis,  he  knew  that  the  earth  had 
opened  her  jaws  to  receive  alive  into  her  eternal  prison 
the  souls  and  bodies  of  the  murderers  of  Lambert. 

Hubert  was  received  in  Utrecht  with  inexpressible 
joy,  and  his  after-life  was  worthy  of  its  beginnings.  His 
diocese  included  the  vast  tract  of  the  forest  of  Ardennes, 
within  whose  wild  and  deep  recesses  there  still  lingered 
remains  of  the  old  idolatry  which  had  fled  befoi-e  the 
face  of  Christianity,  and  taken  refuge  in  the  wilderness, 
where  its  dark  and  unholy  rites  were  still  practised 
in  secret  by  many.  St.  Hubert  ])enetrated  in  person 
through  all  the  windings  of  the  forest,  casting  down 
the  idols,  and  preacliing  with  such  a  winning  grace,  that 
tlie  liearts  even  of  the  fierce  and  savage  pagans  were  knit 
to  him  in  love.  Ardennes  long-  ke])t  his  memory  with 
a  loyal  fidelity;  and  in  one  of  tlie  churches  erected  on 
tlie  scenes  of  his  labours  within  her  wilds  was  long  ])re- 
served  tliat  sacred  stole  wliicli  had  been  sent  to  him  by 
the  hands  of  Mary.  It  was  a  joyous  and  beautiful 
sig'ht,  we  are  told,  to  see  the  holy  l;ishop  keeping  the 
liogation-days  in  that  great  forest;  for  all  the  people 
kept  solemn  frist,  and  followed  the  procession  on  loot 
tlirougli  the  fields  and  villages,  and  among  the  plensant 
woods,  and  the  cross  was  Ijorne  over  the  spots  lately 
defiled  by  the  sacrifices  of  tjie  heatliens,  and  the  relies 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  OF  NANTERRE.  241 

of  the  saints — and  of  St.  Lambert  among'  the  number — 
were  carried  on  the  shoulders  of  the  clerg-y,  and  the 
litanies  swelled  with  a  loud  and  solemn  echo  through 
the  recesses  of  the  lonely  wilderness.  St.  Hubert  re- 
tained something-  of  his  old  associations,  and  to  the  last 
was  a  forest  saint.  He  lived  to  govern  the  Church 
of  Utrecht  for  many  years,  but  he  ceased  not  to  sig'h 
for  the  hour  of  his  release.  It  came  at  length,  and  not 
without  a  warning  from  his  angel-fiiend,  a  year  before 
that  it  was  at  hand.  Often  during'  that  year  he  visited 
the  tomb  of  Lambert,  and  recommended  himself  to  liis 
prayers ;  and  when  the  day  was  come  which  he  knew 
would  be  his  last,  lie  preached  a  farewell  sermon  to  his 
j)eople,  and  then  lay  down  to  die.  When  the  last  mo- 
ment drew  near,  he  rose  in  his  bed,  and  Joining  his  hands 
with  the  simplicity  of  a  child,  he  recited  tlie  Creed  and 
the  Our  Father,  and  so  expired  on  the  30th  of  May, 
in  tlie  year  1\^1 .  His  body,  and  the  golden  key  of 
St.  Peter,  are  deposited  in  the  Collegiate  Church  of 
St.  Peter  in  Lieg-e. 


XXXI. 

THE  SHEPHERDESS  OF  NANTERRE. 

It  was  the  summer  of  the  year  429,  and  the  little 
village  of  Nanterre,  near  Paris,  presented  a  scene  of  un- 
usual bustle  and  festivity.  The  fronts  of  the  houses 
were  gaily  decorated  with  boughs  and  many-coloured 
banners,  and  the  very  streets,  strewn  with  rushes,  seemed 
to  indicate  the  presence  of  some  illustrious  gniest.  People 
of  all  ranks  and  ages  were  crowding  to  tlie  open  door  of 
the  church,  not,  indeed,  as  might  be  supposed,  to  join  in 
the  celebration  of  any  festival  solemnised  tliere  on  that 
day,  but  rather  that  they  might  catch  a  glimpse  of  two 
great  men  who  were  to  lodge  that  night  in  their  huinble 
village ;  these  were  the  two  Bisliops  Germanus  and  Lu- 

R 


242  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

US.  They  were  on  their  journey  towards  the  island  of 
"ritain,  which  at  that  period  was  g-aining*  its  first  melan- 
choly celebrity  as  the  seat  of  heresy;  and  it  was  to 
oppose  the  rapid  and  alarming*  progress  ofPelag'ianism, 
that  a  council  of  Galilean  prelates  had  selected  them  as 
champions  of  the  faith,  and  despatched  them  to  B;i"itain, 
where  Germanus  was  to  bear  the  office  and  authority 
of  papal  leg-ate. 

Nanteire  was  a  poor  and  insignificant  place,  and  the 
population  which  tilled  the  church  was  chiefly  composed 
of  rude  shepherds  and  village  artisans.  The  chance 
which  had  given  them  two  such  disting'uished  visitoi*s 
as  the  Bishops  of  Auxerre  and  Troyes  was  a  great  event 
in  their  simple  history ;  and  when  it  was  known  that  the 
legate  was  about  to  address  the  people  in  a  discourse,  and 
would  afterwards  assist  publicly  at  the  singing-  of  tlie 
divine  office  in  the  parish  church,  the  satisfaction  of  the 
villagers  was  at  its  height. 

Germanus  was  in  all  respects  a  remarkable  man ;  his 
call  to  the  priesthood  and  episcopate  presents  us  with 
one  of  those  instances  of  sudden  conversion  which  were 
so  common  in  the  early  days  of  faith,  and  so  hard  of 
comprehension  in  our  own.  A.  successful  courtier  and 
imperial  favourite,  he  had  incurred  the  displeasure  of 
his  Bishop  Amator  by  a  passionate  love  of  tidd-sports, 
which  had  led  liim  into  practices  which  the  jealous 
watchfulness  of  that  prelate  denounced  as  savouring  of 
heathenism.  For  Germanus  was  wont  to  adorn  the  city 
with  the  heads  of  the  beasts  h(^  had  slain,  and  to  hang 
them  solemnly  on  an  old  tree  which  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  city,  in  acc(jrdance  with  certain  superstitions  of 
pagan  times ;  and  when  the  Bishop  summarily  stopped 
these  proceeding's  by  ordering  the  tree  to  be  levelled  to 
the  G'round,  the  young  noble  vowed  never  to  rest  till  he 
had  taken  veng-eance  on  the  meddling  prelate  who  had 
spoih^l  his  sport.  His  anger  obliged  Amator  to  fly  from 
tlie  city  ;  but  it  was  at  this  very  moment  that,  by  a  di- 
vine revelation,  the  venerable  prelate  became  aware  that 
his  ;ip:spi  utor  wasthe  verv  man  chosejito  be  his  succos- 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  OF  NANTERIIE.  243 

sor.  As  the  moment  of  liis  death  drew  near,  he  ordered 
his  ecclesiastics  to  seize  Germanus  by  forcfi,  and  give 
him  the  tonsure,  assuring  him  at  the  same  time  that 
such  was  the  will  of  God:  the  command  was  obeyed, 
and  he  who  but  a  while  before  had  seemed  so  firm  and 
untameable  a  spirit,  offered  no  opposition  to  their  pro- 
ceeding's, but  gave  himself  blindly  and  unresisting-ly  to 
the  course  marked  out  for  him  by  Amator.  When  the 
unanimous  voice  of  the  clergy  and  people  chose  him  to 
succeed  that  prelate  in  the  g-overnment  of  the  Church, 
Auxerre  marvelled  at  the  spectacle  of  the  wild  and  half 
heathen  noble  transformed  into  another  man;  his  life 
was  one  of  penance  and  extraordinary  sanctity,  nor  was 
it  long"  before  the  universal  reputation  which  he  enjoyed 
raised  him  to  the  hig'hest  station  among*  the  councils  of 
the  Galilean  Bishops. 

Such  was  the  man  who,  standing-  on  the  altar-steps 
of  the  church  of  Nanterre,  was  now  addressing-  his  simple 
audience  in  a  few  brief  and  appropriate  words  of  ex- 
hortation. One  of  the  most  learned  and  accomplished 
men  of  the  dny,  he  was  perfect  in  the  art  of  adapting- 
his  thoug-ht  and  lang-uage  to  almost  any  company;  and 
with  the  facility  of  a  truly  g-reat  speaker,  lie  g-racefuUy 
fitted  himself  and  his  elof|uence  to  the  intellectual  little- 
ness of  his  audience.  Never  had  the  g-ood  people  of 
Nanterre  heard  such  preaching-  before  ;  and  perhaps  its 
power  over  their  hearts  was  not  a  little  enhanced  by 
the  affable  and  winning-  courtesy  which  Germanus 
showed  to  the  rude  peasantry  who  crowded  about  him. 
He  sjfoke  to  each  in  turn  with  a  fatherly  sweetness; 
and  many  a  mother's  heart  was  made  prouder  and 
liappier  till  her  dying-  day  by  the  thoug-ht  that  the 
lord  leg-ate  had  even  noticed  l»er  ragg-ed  urcliins  of 
children,  and,  it  may  be,  given  them  a  kind  word  as 
they  knelt  to  receive  his  blessing*.  Among-  those  who 
were  thus  presented  before  him,  was  a  little  child 
scarcely  seven  years  of  age,  whose  singular  beauty  was 
apparent  in  spite  of  tlie  extreme  jiovcrty  of  hor  dress. 
The  parents  of  Genevieve  were  indeed  of  the  hund)Iest 


244  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

class ;  the  wretched  shepherd's  hut,  in  which  her  fa';hei 
Severus  lived,  was  the  poorest  in  Nanterre  :  and,  young' 
as  slie  was,  lier  life  had  already  heg-un  in  hard  labour, 
as  she  toiled  about  the  hills  after  the  sheep,  whom  it 
was  her  daily  care  to  watch  and  drive  home  in  the 
evening'.  And  so  when  we  speak  of  the  beauty  of  Ge- 
nevieve, it  was  a  beauty  which  certainly  had  little  of 
worldly  accompaniments  to  set  it  off,  and  to  many  it 
might  perhaps  have  seemed  a  perversion  of  terms  to 
call  her  beautiful  at  all.  The  charm  lay  rather  in  the 
innocence  which  was  expressed  in  every  look  and  ges- 
ture, and  the  earnest  gravity  of  her  countenance ;  and 
such  as  it  was,  it  seemed  in  an  extraordinary  manner  to 
rivet  the  attention  of  Germanus  ;  for  when  she  came  to 
him  in  her  turn,  and  knelt  with  her  little  companions 
before  tlie  spot  where  t!ie  Bishop  stood,  a  very  singu- 
lar expression  of  interest  passed  over  his  countenance. 
"  Who  is  tliis  child,  and  who  are  her  parents  /"  he  in- 
quired of  the  priest  of  Nanterre,  who  stood  beside  him, 
and  who  noticed  his  manner  with  no  small  surjirise. 
"It  is  tlie  little  shepherdess  Genevieve/'  he  rephed, 
"  the  child  of  one  of  our  oldest  villagers.  Severus  and 
his  wife  Gerontia  are  among  the  poorest  dwellers  in 
Nanterre;  but  they  serve  God  faithfully,  and  Genevieve 
knows  how  to  say  her  prayers  better  tlian  many  who 
are  twice  her  age." 

"Are  her  parents  here?"  said  Germanus;  "if  so, 
call  them,  that  I  may  speak  to  them. ;"  and  in  obedience 
to  his  summons,  the  astonished  cou{)le  found  themselves 
called  from  the  crowd,  and  brought,  to  their  no  small 
embarrassment,  to  the  ])resence  of  the  prelate.  Taking 
the  (:;hild  by  her  hand,  Germanus  addressed  them  with 
the  air  of  one  who  was  yielding  to  a  Divine  inspiration  : 
"  Severus,"  he  said,  "  guard  this  child  as  the  most  pre- 
cious gift  of  the  Divine  goodness ;  her  nativity  was 
celebrated  in  heaven  by  the  hymns  of  angels,  and  the 
day  is  not  I'ar  distant  when  she  will  recal  sinners  from 
the  error  of  their  ways,  and  ])erfect]y  accomj^lish  the 
resolu*:ion  even   now  formed  within   her    heart.     And 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  OF  NANTERRE.      245 

you,  my  daughter/'  he  continued,  turning-  to  Gene- 
vieve, **  will  you  not  consecrate  yoiu'self  wliolly  to  Him 
who  has  chosen  you  from  all  eternity  to  he  His  spouse  ?" 
The  singular  address  of  the  prelate,  and  the  curiosity 
and  attention  of  all  the  spectators,  did  not  seem  to 
disturb  or  confuse  the  tranquillity  of  the  little  Gene- 
vieve. She  scarcely  seemed  aware  that  she  was  an 
object  of  interest,  and  that  the  eyes  of  all  present  were 
bent  on  her  with  a  g-aze  of  wonder  and  admiration,  for 
her  own  were  never  raised  from  the  ground,  and  to  the 
inquiry  of  the  bisliop  she  replied  simply,  and  without 
hesitation,  ^'  It  is  what,  by  God's  grace,  I  have  always 
resolved."  "  Then  be  of  good  courage,"  replied  Ger- 
manus,  "  and  prove  by  your  actions,  that  your  heart 
firmly  assents  to  what  your  lips  profess.  Neitlier  be 
afraid  of  the  opposition  of  man  nor  devil ;  for  the  Lord 
will  support  you,  and  strengthen  you  with  grace." 

When  this  exti-aordinary  dialogue  was  conclu'led 
Germanus  desired  that  the  singing  of  vespers  might  be 
begun ;  but  the  wonder  with  which  the  people  had  wit- 
nessed what  had  passed,  was  not  diminished  when  they 
observed  that  lie  kei)t  the  child  near  him  during  the 
whole  of  tlie  office,  and  that  his  hand  rested  on  her 
head.  When  he  retired  fi-om  the  church,  he  again 
called  Severus  and  Gerontia,  and  charg'ed  them  to 
bring  their  daughter  to  him  on  the  following  morning 
before  his  departure  for  Paris. 

The  impression  wliich  these  incidents  made  on  the 
little  world  of  N nnterre  may  be  easily  supposed ;  when 
the  peo])le  left  the  church,  every  tongtie  was  busy  with 
the  strange  proj)hecy  of  Germanus ;  for  the  miraculous 
gifts  wliich  he  was  known  to  possess  g-ave  a  chai-acter 
to  his  words  which  would  not  have  attaclied  to  those  of 
an  ordinary  man ;  and  when,  verv  early  on  the  follow- 
ing morning-,  Sevonis  and  his  daughter  were  again 
brought  into  the  Bisliop's  presence,  not  a  few  of  those 
who  liad  witnessed  tlie  scene  on  the  previous  day  con- 
trived to  join  tlieinselves  to  tlieir  com[)any,  eager  to  see 
ilie  end.    Germanus  was  sittiu"-  with  some  of  the  eocle- 


246  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

Biastics  of  his  suite  as  they  entered,  and  calling-  the 
child  to  come  close  to  his  knee,  he  looked  earaestly  in 
lier  face.  "  Listen,  Genevieve,  my  dauj^hter,"  he  said ; 
"  do  you  rememher  the  ])romise  you  g-ave  me  yesterday, 
that  you  would  consecrate  your  soul  and  body  wholly 
and  entirely  to  God  ?"  "  Yes,  father,"  she  replied,  as 
simpl}'  and  readily  as  before;  *'  I  do  remember  it."  Ger- 
manus  was  about  to  speak  ag-ain,  when  something"  lying 
at  his  feet  caug-ht  his  e^'e,  and  he  paused  to  pick  it 
U}).  It  was  a  piece  of  bronze,  probably  some  coin  of  the 
country,  which  chanced  to  be  marked  with  tlie  rude 
fig'ure  of  a  cross.  He  took  it  in  his  hand,  and  g-ave 
it  to  Genevieve,  saying-,  '^  Always  carry  this  round 
your  neck  in  memory  of  me,  and  of  the  words  you 
nave  spoken  to  me  tliis  day.  Sufi'er  no  richer  orna- 
ment ever  to  touch  your  neck,  and  resolve,  were  the 
world  to  offer  you  all  the  jewels  and  ])earls  of  the  era- 

{)ire,  to  trample  them  under  your  feet."  Then  g'iving- 
ler  his  blessing-,  he  rose  to  depart;  and  in  a  few  hours 
thu  little  villag-e  was  ag-ain  left  to  the  quiet  and  tran- 
quillity wliich  the  excitement  caused  by  his  visit  had 
lor  a  moment  interru])ted.  For  a  time,  indeed,  the  sin- 
g-ularity  of  his  conduct  towards  Genevieve  formed  the 
subject  of  many  long-  speculations;  l)ut  g-radiially  the 
interest  died  away,  as  they  every  day  saw  the  little 
shepherdess  leading-  her  ordinary  life  among-  them,  with 
no  chang-e  eitlier  in  her  manner  or  ocnu[)ation  which 
could  indicate  that  fhe  ])ro])]ieey  of  (ilei-nianus  had 
roused  within  lier  any  consciousness  of  her  own  im- 
portance, or  im])atien(-e  for  any  other  kind  of  lif(>.  It 
is  tnie,  neither  liRr  neig-libours  nor  even  her  pai-ents  saw 
much  of  what  passed  in  Genevieve's  heart ;  for  her  time 
was  spent  for  the  mo^t  j)art  on  the  lonely  hills  where 
she  watched  her  sheep,  and  so  the  habits  of  ])rayer  and 
aspii-ation  which  day  by  day  deepenfid  in  her  soul,  fill- 
ing- it  with  the  |)ei-j)etnal  memory  of  Ilim  to  whom  she 
had  been  so  solemnly  consecrated,  g-rew  in  secret,  and 
unoljserved  ])y  any  human  eye,  leaving-  no  trace  by 
which  they  could  l)e  g-uessed,  save  in  a  certain  spiri- 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  OF  NANTERIIE.  247 

tuality  in  her  look,  which  those  who  surrounded  lier 
were  scarcely  quick-sig-hted  enougfh  to  disceni  or  un- 
dei-stand.  ller  mother  Gerontia,  though  good  and 
kind-hearted  in  her  own  way,  was  in  no  degree  supe- 
rior to  the  common  faiilts  of  her  class ;  of  a  quick  and 
hasty  temper,  slie  was  little  in  the  hahit  of  restraining 
her  tongue;  and  whilst  she  was  far  from  comprehending 
the  quiet  gmvity  of  Genevieve's  manner,  so  different 
from  that  of  ordinary  children,  it  often  provoked  her 
into  angry  speeches  and  somewhat  rough  treatment. 

Now  it  happened  that  not  very  long  after  tlie  visit 
of  the  Bishop  of  Auxerre,  Gerontia  was  preparing  one 
morning  to  set  out  for  the  village  from  which  their 
little  cottage  was  situated  at  some  little  distance.  It 
was  a  fete-day,  and  she  had  dressed  herself  in  her  holi- 
day attire  to  apj)ear  in  church  as  gay  as  her  neigh- 
bours; but  as  to  Genevieve,  she  desired  her  to  remain 
at  home,  and  mind  the  house  in  her  absence.  For  once, 
however,  she  was  surprised  to  meet  witli  something  like 
opposition  from  the  child,  Avho  rather  pertinaciously 
pleaded  that  she  too  might  be  suffered  to  go  to  churca 
and  keep  the  fete,  by  hearing  Mass.  Gerontia  was 
very  angry  :  "  Thou  shalt  stay  at  home  and  bridle  thy 
tongue,"  she  said,  '^  whicli  is  over- forward  for  thine  age; 
a  fine  thing,  indeed,  if  all  the  cliildren  and  babies  of  the 
village  are  to  be  crying  thus  to  keep  their  fete  like 
grown  women.  You  will  be  wanting  earrings,  and  a 
silken  kerchief  next."  "I  want  no  earrings,  mother,'' 
replied  Genevieve,  ''for  the  Bishop  told  me  I  was  never 
to  wear  them  or  any  ornament  save  my  little  bronze 
cross;  but  he  told  me  likewise  to  serve  God,  and  al- 
ways to  hear  Mass  on  feast-days;  wlierefore,  I  pray  vou, 
suffer  me  to  go  with  you  to-day,  for  I  pi'omised  him  I 
would  faithfully  do  whatsoever  he  bade  me." 

"  The  Bishop  hath  turned  tliy  head,  I  think,"  ex- 
claimetl  Gerontia,  who  felt  a  secret  consciousness  that 
the  pleasure  of  exhibiting  her  own  gay  holiday  dress 
had  no  small  share  in  the  delight  of  a  village  fete-day. 
"  May  1  never  see  the  church-town  of  Nantcrre  agani, 


848  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

if  I  do  not  rid  thee  of  thy  whims ;"  and  as  she  spoke, 
she  struck  her  daug-hter  a  heavy  box  on  lier  ear. 
Scarcely  had  she  done  so,  than  she  seemed  seized  with 
a  sudden  fear.  "Genevieve,  child,  where  art  thou, — 
what  hast  thou  done  ?"  she  cried,  extending-  her  arms, 
as  one  who  feels  in  the  dai-k ;  "  it  is  surely  a  jest  of 
thine ;  thou  hast  closed  the  door,  hast  thou  not  '^  for  I 
cannot  see."  "  0  mother !"  answered  Genevieve,  Avho 
was  terribly  frij^htened,  "the  door  and  window  are  wide 
open,  and  it  is  quite  liffht  j"  and  as  her  mother  still 
looked  wild  and  confused,  and  felt  about  her  to  find  the 
door,  Genevieve  began  to  cry,  and  throwing  herself  into 
Gerontia's  arms,  continued  to  sob  with  childish  vehe- 
mence, "See,  dear  mother,  won't  you;  you  can  surely 
see  now."  But  Gerontia  could  not  see;  the  penalty 
she  had  called  down  on  her  own  head  had  fallen  on  her 
hasty  words,  and  she  was  quite  blind.  Nearly  two 
years  passed  away,  and  though  she  tried  many  remedies, 
notliing-  availed  to  restore  the  smallest  g-leam  of  sight 
to  her  eyes.  The  terrible  privation,  however,  was  not 
without  its  effect;  and  whilst  Genevieve  served  and 
tended  her  with  devoted  care,  Gerontia's  temper  grew 
more  patient,  and  her  tongiie  was  learning-  a  gentleness 
or  civility  to  which  it  had  before  been  a  stranger. 

Now  it  happened  one  day  that  Genevieve  had  g'one 
to  the  spring-  which  was  at  a  little  distance  from  the 
house  to  draw  the  water.  Tired  with  the  hard  work 
whicli  now  fell  to  her  exclusive  share— for  her  mother's 
bhndness  prevented  her  from  taking-  any  active  ])art  in 
the  affairs  of  the  liousehold — she  sat  on  tlie  brink  of 
the  well  to  rest;  and  as  she  sat  and  tliouglit  of  her 
mother,  and  the  affliction  which  had  come  upon  lier,  slie 
beg-an  to  weep.  "  Oh,  that  our  Lord  would  give  si<rht 
to  my  mother !''  she  sig-hed ;  "  if  lie  were  liere,  He 
could  do  it  in  a  moment :  and  lie  is  here,  for  He  is 
every  where.  And  Germanus  called  Him  my  spouse  ;  if 
He  is  my  spouse,  He  will  surely  do  what  I  ask  Him; 
and  when  I  go  back  I  will  ask  Him  to  cure  my  mo- 
ther "    And  witJi  these  thoug-hts  revolving-  in  her  muid 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  OF  NANTERUE.     249 

she  filled  her  buckets  with  the  clear  sparkling;  water, 
and  t(/ttered  back  to  the  cottage.  "  Is  tliat  you,  child  ;'"' 
said  Gerontia,  as  she  heard  the  footstep  on  the  threshold. 
"  Come  here;  for  our  Lord  has  put  a  thoug-ht  into  my 
heart,  and  bring-  with  you  some  of  the  water  which  you 
have  drawn;  for  I  veiily  beheve  that  this  day  He  will 
give  me  back  my  sight."  "  0  mother !"  exclaimed 
Genevieve  joyfully,  "  it  is  what  I  have  been  praying' 
for;  but  what  will  you  do  with  the  water?"  Gerontia 
did  not  immediately  answer:  with  a  movement  of  great 
reverence  she  took  tlie  water  in  her  hands,  and  raised 
them  and  her  sightless  eyeballs  to  heaven;  she  prayed 
for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  then  holding  out  the  ves- 
sel to  her  daughter,  slie  desired  her  to  make  over  it  the 
sign  of  the  cross.  Genevieve  having  obeyed,  Gerontia 
bathed  her  eyes  several  times  in  the  water,  whilst  her 
daughter  stood  watching  her  with  feelings  of  extraor- 
dinary tenderness  and  anxiety.  And  as  she  so  stood, 
her  mother  looked  uj),  and  she  saw  that  her  glance  was 
no  longer  wandering  and  expressionless.  Gerontia's 
sight  was  restored ;  and  as  she  herself  hesitated  not  to 
acknowledge,  thi'ough  the  merits  of  her  child.  Her 
time  of  suffering  had  produced  its  effect,  and  tlie  grati- 
tude and  reverence  with  wliich  she  had  now  learnt  to 
regard  Genevieve  showed  itself  in  the  care  which  she 
now  displayed  in  cherisliing  and  fonvarding  the  holy 
design  to  which  the  child  liad  so  resolutely  consecrated 
herself.  It  wns  not  long-  before  an  opportunity  pre- 
sented itself  for  this  consecration  to  be  made  in  a  for- 
mal and  solemn  manner,  according  to  the  custom  of  the 
times,  on  the  occrision  of  the  Bisliop  of  Chartres  visiting 
Nanteri'e.  Genevieve  was  presented  to  him,  with  two 
others  older  than  lierself,  to  receive  tlie  religious  veil 
from  his  hands.  When  the}'  all  three  stood  before 
him,  Genevieve,  as  being  the  youngest,  was  ])laced  the 
last  in  the  rank ;  but  a  secret  inspiration  revealed  to 
the  Bishop  that  ii  more  than  ordinary  degree  of  sanctity 
was  concealed  under  lier  simiile  and  modest  exterior. 
Regardinu  her  earnestly  for  some  minutes,  he  delaved 


250  CATHOLIC  LKOENDS. 

commencing'  the  ceremony ;  and  then  turaine-  suddenly 
to  some  of  tlie  attendant  priests,  he  said,  "  Bring-  that 
youngest  child  to  the  front,  for  God  has  ah-eadv  sancti- 
fied her." 

"  It  is  Genevieve,"  said  one  of  those  standing  by ; 
"and  the  holy  father  Germanus  did  indeed  in  some 
sort  consecrate  her  when  he  came  here  eight  yeai-s 
since,  and  prophesied  that  great  designs  of  God  should 
be  accomplished  in  her." 

And  so  for  a  second  time  the  attention  of  the  people 
was  directed  to  the  little  shepherdess,  who  was  now 
once  more  pointed  out  to  them  as  the  chosen  favourite 
of  Heaven.  In  those  times  the  holy  virgins  consecrated 
to  God  remained  in  their  own  homes,  and  followed  a 
life  of  devotion  and  mortification,  without  wholly  with- 
drawing* from  the  society  of  their  families.  But  very 
shortly  after  the  reception  of  the  sacred  veil,  the  death 
of  both  her  parents  obliged  Genevieve  to  seek  a  new 
home  with  her  godmother,  who  resided  at  Paris ;  and 
with  her  change  of  residence  a  new  life  openeil  before 
her.  The  celebrity  attaching  to  her  name  accompanied 
her  to  the  capital,  and  was  increased  by  the  innumer- 
able miracles  which  followed  her  prayers,  and  the  visits 
of  charity  in  which  her  time  was  spent.  These  visits  ex- 
tended far  beyond  the  boundaries  of  Paris, — all  the  chief 
cities  of  France  became  familiar  with  the  presence  of  ono 
whom  they  regarded  as  a  kind  of  messenger  from  heaven. 
The  secrets  of  consciences  were  laid  open  to  her ;  and 
her  arbitration  and  judgment  were  accepted  in  many  a 
feud  wliich  might  else  have  found  its  settlement  in  a 
sea  of  blood.  ]t  is  to  be  reg'retted  that  so  much  of  the 
history  of  this  period  of  her  life  is  sunk  in  tlie  obscmnty 
of  the  times;  yet  if  we  may  judge  from  the  impei-fect 
notices  preserved,  it  seems  to  have  borne  a  striking 
resemblance  to  that  of  St.  Catherine  of  Sienna.  For 
whil>t  constantly  eng;aged  in  long  jom-neys  and  trouble- 
some' atfiiirs,  living  before  the  jniblic  eye  and  accom- 
panied by  a  number  of  tliose  who  were  living  like  lipr- 
self  in  a  state  consecrated  to  relie-ion.  whilst   vt  not 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  OF  NANTERRE.  251 

wholly  separated  fi-ora  the  world,  and  who  considered 
themselves  her  spiritual  children,  neither  the  distrac- 
tions nor  the  fatignie  which  she  suffered  had  the  effect 
of  disturbing;  for  one  moment  the  interior  calm  of  a 
soul  which  united  the  contemplation  of  a  solitary  to  the 
labours  of  an  apostle. 

Like  St.  Catherine,  she  had  her  enemies ;  and  for  a 
time  the  world  banded  ag-ainst  her,  and  denounced  her  as 
a  hypocrite  and  a  visionary.  Like  her,  too,  the  mysteri- 
ous and  supernatural  life  of  ecstasy  and  miracle  ming-led 
with  the  thread  of  her  ordinary  existence ;  and  whilst  the 
marvels  of  such  a  life  made  some  venerate  her  as  a  saint, 
many  others  were  equally  ready  to  persecute  her  as  an 
impostor.  She  was  scarcely  more  than  twenty  when 
St.  Germanus  returned  from  Eng-land  after  an  absence  of 
thirteen  years ;  and  we  give  the  events  that  followed  in 
the  langoiag-e  'of  an  old  legendary  life  of  tlie  fourteenth 
century.  "  Tiien  having-  returned  to  France,  he  came 
to  Paris ;  and  all  tlie  people  went  out  to  meet  him  with 
great  joy.  But  before  all  thing-s  the  blessed  Germanus 
asked  how  fared  tlie  virg"in  Genevieve ;  and  the  people, 
who  are  ever  more  ready  to  speak  evil  than  well  of  g-ood 
people,  replied  that  there  were  no  g-ood  tiding-s  of  her. 
But  as  they  tried  to  blame  licr,  their  words  did  them- 
selves praise  her ;  wherefore  lie  took  no  count  of  their 
evil  speech,  but  as  soon  as  he  had  entered  the  city,  he 
went  strait  to  the  dwelhng-  of  tlie  virg-in,  whom  he  sa- 
luted after  so  humble  a  sort,  that  the  people  who  beheld 
the  same  marvelled  greatly;  and  then  he  showed  to  those 
who  despised  her  the  g-round  watered  by  her  tears,  and 
related  to  them  the  bog-inning-  of  her  life,  and  Iioav  it 
had  been  made  known  to  him  at  Nantcrre  that  she  was 
chosen  of  God,  and  tliereforc  he  had  recommended  her 
to  the  people." 

The  stedtbst  friendship  and  ])rotection  of  Germanus 
turned  for  a  while  the  current  of  po})uIar  feeling-,  and 
silenced  the  bu?;}' tniig-iios  that  sought  her  ruin;  but  his 
fresh  absence  in  Italy  in  the  year  449  was  the  signal  for 
a  renewal  of  the  persecution  of  her  with  greater  violence 


262  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

than  before.  They  even  determined  to  take  her  life, 
and  were  preparing;  to  drown  her  as  a  witch  and  im- 
postor, when  once  more  the  intervention  of  Germanus 
was  the  means  of  restoring'  her  to  the  popular  esteem. 
At  the  very  moment  that  they  were  drag-g-uig-  their 
unresisting"  victim  to  death,  the  archdeacon  of  Auxerre 
arrived  on  a  mission  from  the  Bishop,  and  imperatively 
demanded  to  be  permitted  to  speak  with  her.  The 
character  and  authority  of  Germanus  commanded  re- 
spect for  his  messeng-er,  and  the  brutal  mob  were  awed 
into  gentleness  when  they  beheld  the  archdeacon  pre- 
sent her  with  the  usual  ceremonial,  a  portion  of  the 
blessed  bread,  which  Germanus,  after  a  custom  of  the 
time,  had  sent  her  as  a  special  token  of  esteem,  and  as 
a  token  of  comnumion.  This  had  the  effect  of  chang- 
ing* the  rag'e  of  the  fickle  populace  into  a  veneration  for 
her  person,  which  they  continued  to  retain  during"  the 
remainder  of  her  life.  But  events  were  at  hand  which 
were  destined  to  exhibit  Genevieve  to  the  world  in  a 
new  character,  and  to  g-ive  her  a  t^laim  on  the  g-ratitude 
of  the  country,  of  which  she  was  now  to  become  the 
defender,  News  came  to  Paris  that  Attila,  the  felon- 
king"  of  the  Iluns,  was  ravag-ing-  every  part  of  France, 
and  had  sworn  to  subdue  it  to  his  rule ;  wherefore  the 
citizens  of  Paris,  by  reason  of  the  great  fear  that  they 
had,  sent  their  property  into  other  cities  that  were  more 
secure.  In  this  g-eneral  alarm  Genevieve  undertook 
to  reanimate  the  drooping-  courage  of  the  ])eople,  and 
to  encourage  tliem  to  a  manly  defence.  "^  ohe  admon- 
ished the  women,"  continues  the  ancient  writer  before 
quoted,  ''  that  they  should  watch  in  {)ra3'er  and  fasting, 
whereby  they  should  powerfully  resist  and  overcome 
the  tyranny  of  the  enemies,  even  as  the  two  holy  women 
Esther  and  Juditli  did  in  old  time.  And  they  obeyed 
her,  watching  mnny  days  together  in  the  church  in 
fasts  and  prayer."  But  she  was  not  C(mtent  with  this ; 
leaving  her  companions  in  the  clnn-ch,  .she  herself  ap- 
peared in  the  streets  and  ])nl)lic  pUiees,  calling  on  the 
men  to  arm  themselves  and  remain  at  their  posts,  and 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  OF  XA5TERRE.     253 

promising  them  the  protection  of  Heaven.  Each  day 
the  dano^er  appeared  more  imminent ;  for  tidings  wei-e 
continually  reaching  the  tenified  inhabitants  of  the 
nearer  approach  of  the  barbarian  hordes,  whose  wav 
was  marked  by  a  track  of  devastation ;  and  still  eacK 
day  was  Genevieve  to  be  seen  going-  about  among  the 
fearful  and  faint-hearted  people,  and  assuring  them  that 
the  day  of  deliverance  was  at  hand.  Some,  indeed, 
disregarded  her  prophecies,  and  treated  her  as  an  im- 
postor; but  the  greater  part  so  far  yielded  to  the  extra- 
ordinary power  which  she  had  over  them,  tliat  they 
remained  in  the  city,  and  consented  to  prepare  for  its 
defence.  And  at  length  the  intelligence  anivcd,  that 
when  within  a  day's  march  of  the  capital  Attila  and  his 
savage  army  had  suddenly  clianged  their  course,  and 
abandoning  their  designs  on  Paiis,  had  retiUTied  in  the 
direction  of  Orleans.  Tlie  reason  of  this  unexj^ec'ed 
change  in  the  plan  of  the  bai-barians  was  not  explained; 
but  the  people  of  Paris  were  not  slow  in  afributing  ic 
to  the  particular  gi-ace  of  God,  who  liad  guarded  tlie 
city  by  the  prayers  and  merits  of  Genevieve. 

It  was  this  circumstance  that  subsef|uently  caused 
St.  Gene\'ieve  to  be  consiilered  as  the  {)ati-on  saint  of 
Paris  ;  and  yet,  perhaps,  the  city  did  not  owe  her  less 
for  the  intluence  she  exerted  in  sanctifying  and  chris- 
tianising it,  than  for  its  deliverance  through  her  means 
from  tlie  scourge  of  the  Iluns. 

Every  Saturday  night  there  miglit  be  seen  a  long 
procession  of  women  winding  through  t!ie  rough  and 
dirty  ronds  tluit  lay  between  Paris  and  the  mountain  of 
!Mont  Martre.  which  had  been  the  scene  of  the  mai-tyr- 
dom  of  St.  Denys.  vlenevieve  was  at  their  iiead ;  lier 
piety  was  constantly  mited  to  a  patriotism  as  fervent, 
and,  if  we  niiii-lit  so  say,  as  romantic,  as  that  which  in  a 
sub-equent  age  animated  the  breast  of  Jonn  of  Arc:  and 
tills  devotion  to  the  great  aj'ostle  of  France  had  bet'u 
in-tituted  by  her  to  implore  his  protection  on  ti.e  conn- 
try,  which  was  then  sharing  in  the  terrible  >uliVriiig-8 
that  attended  the  iinal  dissolution  of  the  western  em- 


254  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

pire.  One  night,  as  they  were  on  their  way,  the  rain 
descended  in  torrents,  and  they  couki  scarce  keep  their 
footing^  in  the  dirty  roads ;  yet  still  they  kept  on,  hrave 
and  undaunted,  singing  psalms  and  litanies,  and  battling' 
with  the  wind,  which  arose  with  tempestuotis  violence, 
and  rendered  their  progress  slow  and  difficult.  At 
leng"th  the  lamp  which  was  earned  in  front  of  their  little 
company  was  blown  out,  and  they  were  left  in  total 
darkness.  Many  of  them  were  frig-htened  and  disheart- 
ened, and  beg-an  to  weep;  but  Genevieve  reassured  them. 
"  Give  me  the  lamp,"  she  said ;  and  the  sound  of  her 
sweet  and  g-entle  voice  restored  courage  in  the  hearts  of 
her  children,  even  though  they  could  not  discern  her 
form ;  "  I  will  light  you  to  the  church."  And  taking' 
it  in  her  hand,  she  had  scarcely  touched  it,  when  it  in- 
stantly relighted  of  itself ;  and  bearing  it  in  front  of  them, 
so  that  its  clear  ray  fell  over  the  whole  company,  she 
thus  led  them  on  to  the  church-door,  and  so  accom- 
plished the  night's  pilgrimage. 

We  have  instituted  a  comparison  between  the  cha- 
racters of  Genevieve  and  St.  Catherine  of  Sienna, — a 
comparison  which  is  forcibly  sugg*ested  in  the  public  nnd 
patriotic  passages  of  their  lives ;  in  their  interior  suffer- 
ing's, and  the  martyrdom  of  love  which  each^endured, 
they  were  not  less  alike.  "The  precious  virgin  Gene 
vieve,"  says  her  historian,  "  did  most  hardl}'  torment 
her  body  all  her  life  for  the  preventing-  of  sin  ;  her  only 
delights  were  fasting,  prayers,  and  penances."  At  length 
the  Bishops  laid  her  under  obedience  to  moderate  her 
penances,  and  to  take  a  more  nourishing  kind  of  food. 
She  obeyed ;  and  yet,  "whenever  she  did  eat,"  continues 
her  biographer,  "slie  did  use  to  look  to  heaven  and 
weep  ;  and  it  was  thought  that  she  did  then  verily  see 
our  Lord  in  open  vision,  according  to  the  g'ospel  promise 
which  saith,  that  it  is  well  with  the  pure  in  heart,  be- 
cause they  see  God."  We  shall  not  pause  to  enumerate 
the  many  miracles  which  she  performed ;  but  hasten  to 
another  scene  in  her  life,  when  she  was  called  from  her 
prayers  and  pilg-ri  mages  to  the  service  and  defence  of 


THE  SHEPHERDESS  OF  NANTERRE.     255 

her  country.  A  new  enemy  was  fast  establishing*  itself 
in  Gaul,  and  after  having  taken  possession  of  the  western 
and  southern  portions  of  the  country,  was  now  preparing" 
to  advance  against  Paris.  These  were  the  French  under 
their  King  Childeric,  who,  appearing  before  the  city 
walls,  commenced  a  sie^e  which  they  aftenvards  turned 
into  a  blockade  that  lasted  ten  years,  during  which 
time  the  suffei-ings  of  the  half-starved  inhabitants  reached 
a  terrible  height.  A  vast  number  perished  of  hunger, 
and  the  cries  of  the  famishing  populace  fell  on  the  ear 
of  Genevieve  with  a  power  she  could  not  resist.  Yet 
what  could  she  do  ?  her  own  scanty  portion  was  every 
day  divided  among  the  most  distressed ;  but  the  suf- 
ferers were  to  be  numbered  by  thousands;  and  as  she 
passed  through  the  streets,  her  heart,  which  felt  like  a 
mother's  heart  for  the  people  whom  she  loved  so  dearly, 
was  torn  to  see  them  lying-  in  her  way  in  the  agonies  of 
despair  and  destitution.  That  heart  was,  however,  one 
of  too  truly  heroic  a  nature  to  be  content  with  giving 
])ity  and  compassion  where  there  was  room  I'or  action. 
With  her  usual  resolution  and  comjjosure,  she  proposed 
fo  some  of  the  boatmen  of  the  river  to  endeavoiu"  to 
make  their  way  up  the  Seine  to  some  of  the  distant 
villages,  whence  they  could  procure  a  supply  of  com 
and  other  provisions  for  the  distressed  city.  The  pro- 
posal seemed  nothing  short  of  madness,  for  the  banks 
of  the  river  were  crowded  by  the  hosts  of  the  enemy, 
and  every  avenue  from  Paris  was  strictly  watched  and 
guarded.  Genevieve's  plan  therefore  met  with  a  sturdy 
and  abrupt  repulse.  "  Boats,"  they  said,  "  there  are  in 
plenty ;  but  we  will  not  man  them  :  as  well  die  in  Paris 
for  want  of  bread  as  on  the  swords  of  the  barbarians." 
'•  ^loreover,"  said  another,  ''all  the  world  knows  that 
tile  Seine  is  now  scarce  navigable ;  for  higher  uj),  near 
Troves,  a  great  tree  has  fallen  ov(>r  the  river,  an(l  many 
boats  that  have  attempted  the  passage  have  been 
wrecked,  and  their  crews  have  j^erished.  Neither  is  it 
possible  to  reach  the  higher  stream  till  tlie  hindrance 
be  removed."     ''Well  then,"  replied  Genevit^ve.  witliout 


256  CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 

the  smallest  appearance  of  disturbance,  "  since  you  have 
none  of  you  the  heart  to  g-o,  I  must  needs  g-o  myself;" 
and  so  saying,  she  loosened  one  of  tlie  smaller  boats 
from  its  moorings,  and  pushed  it  from  the  shore.  ''  We 
are  shamed  for  ever,  it"  our  mother  perish  alone,"  said 
one  of  the  men ;  "  I  for  one  will  surely  go  with  her ; 
one  can  die  but  once."  His  words  revived  the  courage 
of  another ;  and  so  she  set  out  on  her  perilous  joiu'ney 
with  her  two  companions,  whose  dangerous  course  she 
herself  directed,  exhorting  them  not  to  fear,  but  to  put 
their  whole  trust  in  God. 

The  citizens  had  gathered  in  great  numbers  on  the 
banks  at  the  news  of  the  departure  of  their  protectress; 
and  followed  her  with  their  eyes,  as  they  watched  her 
little  vessel,  until  the  windings  of  the  stream  hid  her 
from  their  gaze.  Days  passed  on,  and  still  no  news  of 
her  return  reached  their  ears ;  and  the  possible  loss  of 
one  they  counted  as  their  mother  was  for  the  time  a 
sorer  trouble  than  the  perils  of  the  city  or  their  own 
sufferings  in  the  famine.  At  length,  on  the  third  day, 
the  men  who  were  set  to  watch  on  the  towers  which 
commanded  the  river  gave  notice  that  a  boat  was  t^ 
be  seen  coming  down  the  stream,  which  bore  every  re- 
semblance to  that  in  which  the  three  adventurers  had 
embarked.  The  tidings  brought  all  the  jjopulace  to 
tlie  shore ;  and  in  a  short  space  Genevieve  hmded  safe 
amid  her  fellow-citizens,  having  succeeded  in  bringing 
them  a  welcome  supj)ly  of  pi-ovisions,  which  she  liacl 
collected  at  the  peiil  of  her  life  from  the  surrounding 
villages  on  the  Seine.  Even  the  noble  exertions  of 
Genevieve,  however,  could  only  defer  the  fate  of  the 
city,  which  fell  into  the  hands  of  Childeric  after  the 
blockade  had  lasted  ten  years.  Genevieve,  however, 
had  still  a  part  to  perform,  even  in  the  hour  of  defeat 
and  suiTcnder.  She  presented  herself  to  the  pagan  con- 
rpieror,  with  a  noble  daring,  to  solicit  the  lives  of  the 
prisoners,  and  to  exhort  him  to  clemency  and  humanity 
in  the  hour  of  victory.  What  power  there  must  have 
been  in  the  eloquence  of  that  appeal,  we  may  judge 


THE  SHEPHERDESS   3F  NANTERRE.  257 

fi-om  the  fact,  that  the  barbarous  chief,  who  had  made 
other  cities  of  Gaul  run  with  the  blood  of  his  victims, 
is  known  to  have  sigTialised  himself,  on  the  taking-  of 
Paris,  by  a  clemency  which  formed  no  part  of  his  usual 
charactei-.  Nay,  even  though  Genevieve's  name  was  well 
known  to  him,  as  having-  been  the  foremost  among-  those 
wlio  rallied  the  citizens  to  their  long  and  obstinate  de- 
fence, and  tlioug-h  her  exploit  on  the  Seine  had  reached 
his  ears,  and  he  might  naturally  have  conceived  some 
enmity  against  one  who  had  proved  herself  so  stedfast  an 
opponent,  yet  he  could  not  resist  the  extraordinary  in- 
fluence which  she  exerted  over  all  who  approached  her, 
and  whose  most  powerful  element  was  probably  to  be 
found  in  that  iniion  of  hei-oic  strength  with  childish 
simplicity,  which  was  the  most  striking-  feature  of  her 
character. 

Childeric  continued  to  treat  her  with  respect  and 
veneration  during  the  remainder  of  his  life;  and  his 
successor,  Clovis,  who  embraced  the  Christian  faith  in 
406,  was  often  wont  to  take  her  counsel  on  matteis  of 
consequence,  and  frequently  at  her  suggestion  released 
prisonei-s,  and  performed  other  acts  of  g-enerosity  and 
mercy. 

She  lived  to  the  age  of  eighty-nine  years,  all  her 
life  being  illustrated  by  miracles  of  every  kind.  They 
continued  to  be  woi-ked  at  her  tonil',  and  to  those  who 
sought  her  intercession,  in  what  might  be  called  a  j)ro- 
fusion;  so  that  the  shrine  of  "  Miiihime  Saincte  Gene- 
vieve,"'as  she  is  called  in  the  old  leg-end,  became  the 
])lace  of  pilgrimng'e  for  all  France.  The  lame  walked, 
the  blind  saw,  and  the  lepers  were  cleansed.  But  this 
was  not  all.  "All  this  was  worked  in  the  bodies  of  the 
sick  by  the  holy  vii-gin,"  sa}'s  her  biogi-apliei-,  "  who 
did  even  yet  more  accomplish  spiritually,  by  her»merits 
in  the  souls  of  men."  For  indeed  the  conversions 
which  she  made,  both  dui'ing  her  life  and  after  death, 
were  far  more,  numerous  and  move  glorious  to  her 
name  than  all  the  other  offering*  which  long-  adoi-ned 

s 


258 


CATHOLIC  LEGENDS. 


her  sepulchre,  and  bore  testimony  to  the  relief  which 
her  invocation  had  broug-ht  to  the  sick  and  maimed. 

Such  was  the  career  of  the  humble  she])herdess  oi 
Nanterre,  the  holy  Genevieve ;  and  we  may  safely  ven- 
tiu-e  to  say,  that  rich  as  the  subsequent  history  of  her 
country  has  been  in  both  characters,  France  will  scarcely 
find  any  to  equal  her  as  a  heroine,  or  to  surpass  her  as 
a  saint. 


\ 


w^/^  '     ^'^  •>  ''i^"?^  /i 


CY'  ^<'^ 


^  ^ 


^  V 


